


Love At The Juice Bar

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, CODA Bitty, Deaf Characters - Freeform, Deaf Culture, Deaf Jack, Fluff, Jewish Zimmermanns, Juice Bar Bitty, M/M, Miscommunication, Teacher Jack, audism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He glanced down at the post-it, and this time instead of a juice order, there was a phone number, and a small message scribbled beneath.Can I text you?Bitty looked up with a smile.  ‘I hope you know I’m a good southern boy who does not…do down on the knee type things on a first date.’Jack flushed hard, but he didn’t stop smiling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this on tumblr as drabble requests, but since I've now done three in this universe, I decided to start a separate fic for it. Original prompt was from fellow CODA zombizombi who requested: prompt: something cute & sweet where either Jack or Bitty is Deaf or a CODA
> 
> First two chapters are from my tumblr drabbles, the third chapter is new.
> 
> All characters of Check Please belong to the wonderful, amazing, talented Ngozi.

***  
The perks of working the juice bar was the whole getting to use the fanciest gym Bitty had ever seen in his life. Like the sort of machines that looked like they belonged in some futuristic sci-fi show or something. And maybe he was plagued with the feeling of Not Belonging, because really he was a minimum-wage working juice bar employee finishing grad school on so many student loans he wanted to cry, and these were all the Boston Elite or whatever...but he wasn’t going to complain. Plus with the sweet Ivy Park yoga outfits Lardo had gotten him for his birthday, he could blend.

Mostly.

I mean, apart from how most of them had seen him work the juice bar.

He knew all their orders too, which was what he called them all in his head when he headed in for his evening run. There was Extra Chia—the guy with the impressive beard and the wedding ring hung round his neck. There was Two Shots of Wheatgrass—the guy with the intense lashes that looked like he was wearing eyeliner, and Bitty wasn’t really sure whether he was or not.

And then there was the blue-eyed guy. He worked out alone, and Bitty didn’t want to say he was rude, because his momma raised him better than that, but there was a sort of etiquette that Bitty figured even rich people should adhere to. Like taking your earbuds out when you came to order juice instead of shoving an orange post-it in his face with the order scribbled in terrible hand-writing.

Anyway, he was Extra Protein guy. A banana and peach guy with an extra scoop of peanut butter protein and Bitty couldn’t imagine that tasted any good at all, but it wasn’t his job to judge. Plus from the size of the guy’s delts, the protein was working out pretty damn well.

He also looked vaguely familiar. He had that too pretty for words kind of look about him, like the men on his momma’s afternoon Soaps. She and Bitty had a ritual during the summers—when they were both out of school—his mother teaching at the local Deaf school and Bitty at the comprehensive, and luckily they had similar holidays. They’d make a game where every time the captions were wrong—it was Bitty’s job to pay close attention—they’d take a shot. It wasn’t anything more than milk with their cookies, but still. It had been fun. And Bitty had developed a sort of strange romantic fantasy surrounding the men who looked like that.

Tall, dark, handsome. 

Rude.

Too much protein.

But whatever. Bitty got a pretty decent view of Extra Protein’s ass when he was running on the elliptical and Bitty wasn’t pragmatic enough to turn away. He was small, and gay, and painfully single. Sue him.

It was a Thursday—and really, the strangest things always happened Thursdays. Bitty’d had an annoying argument with his mother on facetime which had been cut short from the building’s crap signal. She’d been halfway through her sign-rant about whether or not he should continue to pursue his education in nutrition because was it really going to pay enough to cover his student loans?

His argument being, what did, these days?

And then the screen had frozen, and then the call dropped.

So, whatever. He decided a nice run would help clear his head and work out some of his frustration. He slipped into the locker room, changed, and headed out with his earbuds firmly in his ears, his Get Pumped playlist blaring.

He’d chosen one of his favourite treadmills, the fanciest machine which calculated his weight and pace, and breathing patterns—whatever that was for—and showed some soothing backgrounds of waterfalls and rainforests on the massive screen. He reached his stride, cranked it up one more notch, then tried to lose himself in the rhythm of the run.

He had his eyes closed for a few minutes, and when he opened them, he very nearly tripped over his own feet. 

Extra Protein guy was there, two machines away from him, running with another guy with a fantastic ‘stache even his dad would admire, and thick brown hair tied in a bun at the nape of his neck. The ‘stache guy was wearing some oddly coloured tie-dye leggings, and a black shirt, which looked a stark contrast to the dark blues of Extra Protein—whose only real splash of colour where the offensively yellow trainers.

Extra Protein was running at his usual pace, whilst Tie-Dye guy was going at something much more leisurely, almost lazy. He watched Extra Protein’s lips quirk in a chirpy sort of smile, and then, to Bitty’s intense surprise, he raised his hands and signed, ‘Juice Guy is here.’

Bitty almost fell over his own feet again, and just barely managed to right himself without looking like he was a clumsy mess. He knew staring was wrong, and eavesdropping was even wrong-er, but he hadn’t really come across anyone in this building who signed, and Extra Protein moved his hands fluidly. Fluently.

He was fluent.

Deaf Speed.

‘Are you going to keep oogling, or are you going to do something about it?’ Stache Guy demanded, his signs a little more choppy, a little closer to SEE than ASL.

Bitty almost choked to death when he realised what he was signing.

Extra Protein shook his head, his cheeks pink. ‘I don’t think I have the energy to try something with another hearie who can’t sign. They always tell me they’re going to work hard, to try to learn, and they pick up ten letters of the alphabet and my sign name and then stop.’

Stache Guy’s face fell, and he shook his head. ‘I know, man. But he’s cute.’ Bitty thought the next sign he gave was ‘fuck,’ but he was still slightly unfamiliar with the Northerner’s slang signs. The guy looked like the sort who might use ‘fuck’ a lot though, so he felt pretty good about assuming. ‘You could ask. You never know. And I mean, you panicked like a giant nerd, before. I mean what the ‘fuck’ was with the POST-IT?’

Protein Guy flushed deeper and he signed sharply, ‘Shut up.’

Stache Guy just shrugged. ‘Imagine it. You ask him out, somehow he knows sign. You go on a beautiful date, hold hands in the park, romantic. You walk him to his door, kiss him goodnight…’

‘Stop,’ Protein Guy insisted.

‘…then you can’t help it. You want him too much. You drag him inside—he’s totally into it—and he goes for your shirt, wants to lick those sweet abs, then the next thing you know he’s on his knees and taking your huge…’

In hindsight, Bitty figured this was karma for the whole eavesdropping thing. But at the moment he was really only aware of a few things. One—he was slightly upside down. Two—the floor was really hard. Three—his ribs hurt from where they were lying against the side of the treadmill. Four—this time, he hadn’t been able to catch himself.

And five—Protein Guy was kneeling in front of him, both hands on his cheeks, his deep, droopy blue eyes searching Bitty’s, worried and still pink in the face.

“Oh my god,” Bitty murmured.

He tried to push himself up, but Protein Guy’s hands pushed him back down carefully and he made a noise of protest before pulling one hand away to half-sign, ‘Stop. Don’t move.’

Stache Guy’s voice sounded over the slight ring in Bitty’s ears, interpreting what Protein Guy was saying. “That’s Jack, and he says don’t move.”

“Yeah I…” Bitty swallowed thickly, then let Protein Guy—Jack, apparently—ease him up to a sit.

‘Do you think you need to call emergency services?’ Jack signed.

The words were halfway out of Stache Guy’s mouth, but Bitty decided it was best to just…come clean. He sighed and raised his hands. ‘No, I didn’t hit my head. Just bruised ribs.’

Jack started to nod, then suddenly realised exactly what all that meant, and scrambled back a bit. ‘You.’ His fingers shook. ‘You sign.’

Bitty nodded, slightly mortified. ‘Sorry I…I didn’t know you were…Deaf?’ he asked.

Jack, his face still in shock, just nodded. Then he shakily asked, ‘You understood. Him.’ He pointed at Stache Guy who didn’t looked ashamed at all.

Bitty flushed. ‘Sorry. Yes. I’m sorry.’

Jack looked panicked, and eventually gave into it, pushed himself up, and hurried away. Bitty, miserable and still mortified, glanced over at Stache Guy who was now looking at least slightly abashed.

“Sorry, my dude. I’m Shitty, by the way. And uh, Jack’s just kind of a…I mean, he’s not a sensitive guy, just easily embarrassed. Totes my fault.” He extended a hand down, and let Bitty pull himself up on it. “Seriously, you sure you’re okay? Please don’t like…sue him.”

Bitty shook his head. “No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been listening in on y’all’s conversation. That was pretty dang rude of me and my momma would tan my hide if she knew.”

“You know sign though,” Shitty said thoughtfully.

Bitty shrugged. “My parents are Deaf so…”

Shitty’s face broke into a huge grin. “Interesting,” he drawled.

Bitty couldn’t help but recall the fantasy, and he let out a puff of air, looking away. “Listen I…”

“Look, what I said was out of line,” Shitty replied in a hurry. “I don’t mean to imply you’re even interested in Jack, or that you’d…I mean I was just chirping him and even if you couldn’t understand me, I shouldn’t have. He’s going to hand me my ass over it later, believe me.”

Bitty laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah well I’m…I mean I’m not saying I’m not interested in um. I mean a date. Not the…uh. Well that’s none of your business, the rest of all that but…I uh…”

“Shit, you know he kept going on about how Mc’Fuckin’Cute you were and he was so right,” Shitty said. “Look, give him a few days to relax about the whole you managed to overhear the entire fantasy I sort of painted, and…” Shitty stopped, giving him a considering look. “I think he might appreciate the whole CODA thing.”

Bitty bit his lip, then smiled. “Tell him if he wants my number, he knows where to find me.”

And then, in the smoothest move he’d ever done—and Jack wasn’t even there to witness—Bitty turned on his heel and left.

*** 

He was not so smooth the rest of the night whining on his sofa as he iced his ribs and binged episodes of Jane the Virgin to soothe his soul.

*** 

Bitty didn’t see Jack for a week. He thought maybe the guy had been so mortified he’d actually left the building. Bitty did manage to learn Jack was good looking and fit because he was an ex-hockey player turned history teacher at the community college, who still ran a kid’s league for D/deaf and Hard of Hearing youth in Boston. 

It was better than his momma’s afternoon Soaps. 

The guy truly was the thing of fantasy.

Unbelievably gorgeous guy who was both smart, an athlete, and worked with kids. It was too much. Bitty kind of wanted to die. And his disappointment that Jack no longer wanted to be there when Bitty was working did hurt a little.

No. It hurt a lot.

It was three days into the second week of Jack’s painfully obvious absence. He was at the counter, the gym was dead, and he was googling spoilers on the latest Jane episode when suddenly a bright orange post-it appeared next to his hand. He jumped, and glanced up to see Jack there—wearing distinctly non-gym clothes—looking criminally good looking. He was also smiling, and Bitty felt his heart race.

He glanced down at the post-it, and this time instead of a juice order, there was a phone number, and a small message scribbled beneath.

Can I text you?

Bitty looked up with a smile. ‘I hope you know I’m a good southern boy who does not…do down on the knee type things on a first date.’

Jack flushed hard, but he didn’t stop smiling. ‘I was hoping that would be the case. I like to take things slow. First date, something simple?’

Lord. This boy. Not even a first date—not even a first text—and he was already going to be the death of him. ‘How about coffee sometime? I hear Annie’s down the street has a good PSL.’

‘Really? I haven’t heard that,’ Jack said, and grinned wider.

It took Bitty a second, before he reached out and smacked Jack lightly on the arm. ‘Deaf jokes already?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I’m funny.’

‘We’ll see about that. On our first date.’

Jack’s smile threatened to crack his face in half. ‘I’m free tonight.’

Bitty leant over the counter, giving Jack his best smile, then signed, ‘Pick me up at seven?’

Jack gave the counter two quick raps with his knuckles, then backed up, still grinning. ‘See you then.’

And then he was gone, and Bitty spent the rest of his shift trying not to melt into the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stop it this instant, Eric Bittle,” he chided himself, forcing his hand to the counter to set the comb down. His voice echoed in the locker room, and he was suddenly grateful no one was round to watch him talk to himself like that. But he was all nerves. The cute guy he’d been oogling from afar had turned out to be _not_ a jerk, and also into him. Which was kind of a huge get for Bitty and his year and a half dry spell without even a single phone number.

He breathed in, breathed out, picked up his phone with shaky hands and stared at the short string of texts.

**Any ideas for dinner? I trust you.**

_That’s brave of you, Mr Zimmermann. But you did the inviting, I think you should choose._

**I do know a place, but it’s not conventional. You can tell me if you think it’s any good. Your smoothies are the best I’ve ever had, so your taste seems spot-on.**

_Charmer._

**I’m trying.**

_Lord._

**Jack, actually.**

_Your dad puns are something special, Jack. So where is this place, and what’s unconventional?_

**Well…it’s a food truck. And it does mean maybe taking the food back to mine. Having a little picnic in my living room. No funny business or ‘knee stuff’, I promise.**

_Lord have mercy, are we ever going to move past that?_

**Probably not. But that’s not your fault, it’s Shitty’s.**

_Right. Shitty. I…okay. Okay, Mr Zimmermann, if you trust me, I trust you. See you soon?_

**I’m already getting ready. I can’t wait.**

Lord. This boy.

The conversation was what led Bitty into the locker room to shower, change, and frantically attempt to make himself look presentable enough for a date. Luckily enough he had his good jeans and a nice button-up in his bag. Slightly wrinkled, but the steam from the shower helped, and soon enough he was ready.

Or well, as ready as he was ever going to be.

He gave himself a final once-over, then crept out, only to find Jack waiting for him by the entrance to the gym. He looked even better, if that was possible, than Bitty had seen him before. Not that he didn’t appreciate the nice view of him in work-out bottoms, but this was…definitely something he could appreciate.

Jack was in jeans as well, which hugged him in all the right places. His shirt was a deep blue, which set-off his eyes, and stretched just tight enough over his pecs. Bitty tried not to drool, but it was tough. Jack was leant against the wall, one hand in his pocket, one holding his phone. He looked adorably shy, just a touch of nerves which made Bitty feel better about his own first-date anxiety. Especially since up to this point Jack had just been the Extra Protein jerk who didn’t do more than glare at him and push post-its into his face.

Now he was…so much more, and that realisation gave Bitty worse nerves than anything.

But all the same, he was ready for this. He was _so ready_. Taking a breath, he waved his hand in Jack’s periphery, and after a second, Jack caught the movement and looked up. His face went from stoic to soft, smiling, and he shoved his phone into his pocket before signing, ‘Hi,’ with a quick, sharp movement.

‘Hi,’ Bitty signed back, feeling the flush creep across his cheeks.

Jack bit his lip as he gave Bitty a slow up-and-down, then signed, ‘Ready?’ with one hand as he extended the other.

Oh lord. Hand holding. Bitty swallowed, and signed, ‘Yes,’ and grabbed Jack’s hand with his free one, letting him lead Bitty out the front doors.

‘Is it far?’ Bitty asked after they hit the pavement. ‘Should we get my car?’

‘Five minute walk,’ Jack signed.

Bitty smiled at him. ‘You don’t mind?’

Jack rolled his eyes, elbowing Bitty lightly in the arm. ‘I’m not the one who fell off a treadmill.’

Bitty’s widened, and he balked as Jack laughed openly at him. ‘That is not my fault and you know it! Your friend was telling…dirty stories about…about me.’

That seemed to sober Jack a little, whose face went a little more serious and he pulled them to a stop, taking his hand back from Bitty’s so he could sign very clearly, ‘I am sorry about that, and so is he. He didn’t mean…’

‘I know,’ Bitty interrupted. ‘He told me. And it led to this moment right now so how can I be upset?’

It was Jack’s turn to pink in his cheeks, and he gave Bitty a careful smile before resuming their hand-holding, and heading down the street.

The food truck really was only five minutes off, according to the app Jack had on his phone. It was parked in an abandoned lot, and there was a decent queue waiting for food. The smells coming out of the small windows were familiar—like down-home-cooking familiar. Fried things and southern cuisine, with the hint of something spicy.

‘I always get the chicken tenders,’ Jack signed as they queued up behind another couple holding hands. ‘I like chicken.’

‘Chicken,’ Bitty signed back at him with a chirpy smile. ‘Fried chicken.’

Jack flushed, shrugging. ‘I’d say it’s my guilty food, but I don’t let food make me feel bad.’

‘I like that,’ Bitty signed, nudging him lightly. ‘What else is good?’

They went through the menu, and Bitty discovered most of it was stuff he’d experienced living in a stoner hockey frat haus in college. PB&Js, street tacos, something called the Last-Call Breakfast Burrito, pulled pork sandwiches with drunken coleslaw, fried chicken and greens, chili fries.

‘I think I have to get the pulled pork,’ Bitty confessed as they approached the window.

Jack grinned. ‘Good choice.’

Before Bitty could offer to order—something he was used to doing with his parents, Jack rapped his knuckles on the side of the truck, and grinned at the man behind the window. Suddenly they were signing, rapid-fire, Deaf speed, and Bitty couldn’t help his huge grin.

‘Is that a date?’ the guy was asking.

Jack flushed again. ‘Maybe. Not your business, but I’m also trying to impress him so don’t fuck this up.’

‘What’s in it for me, bro?’

Jack rolled his eyes toward Bitty and shook his head. ‘A nice tip? A promise to be back.’

‘How about have your dad tweet about us again,’ the guy bargained, and Jack snorted, but agreed. Their order was placed, and Jack grabbed them a couple of grapefruit fizzy drinks in glass bottles, and they went off to the side to wait.

‘So. You come here a lot,’ Bitty said.

Jack shrugged. ‘When you find a spot that serves food and the owner is fluent in sign…’ He trailed off with a shrug. ‘Hard to say no.’

‘Especially if they serve chicken tenders?’ Bitty pointed out.

Jack made a face, then reached out and curled his hand round Bitty’s ribs to pull him close. Only it was his bruised side, and he winced, sucking in his breath. Jack spotted it right away, and snatched his hand back like it was burnt.

‘It’s fine,’ Bitty signed in a rush. ‘Really. It’s healing.’

Jack’s eyes went wide. ‘From the fall?’

Bitty waved him off. ‘I promise, I’ve had a lot worse, okay?’

Jack gave him a dubious look, but let the moment pass. Their food was ready shortly after, and though the conversation was stilted with their arms laden with food bags and drink, they still laughed enough, smiled enough to make Bitty feel like he was walking on air as they made their way back to Jack’s.

*** 

Jack’s place was…different than Bitty was expecting, although as he was getting a look round, he realised he hadn’t been sure what to expect. After meeting the stoic extra protein version of Jack, he’d also met the funny, terrible dad and Deaf pun, chicken-tender loving Jack.

His apartment was sparsely furnished, a few bookshelves, a large tv, fireplace, photos everywhere hung on every wall of landscapes and sunsets. There was something about them, too, that said none of them had been purchased, they’d never been up for sale on a stock image website.

But Bitty didn’t really have time to ask. He was led into the kitchen, and the second he deposited the take away bags, Jack’s hand was on him. His eyes searched Bitty’s face, brows furrowed, his expression asking for permission as his hand drifted to the hem of Bitty’s shirt.

Bitty swallowed thickly, then nodded, and let Jack lift it, exposing the fading sunset of bruising on his ribs. ‘I’ll kill him for this,’ Jack signed. His large, strong fingers were more gentle than Bitty could have ever imagined as they brushed over the tender skin.

Bitty closed his hand over Jack’s, squeezing before drawing his gaze up and stepping back to give himself signing space. ‘It’s okay. It was my fault for…you know…eavesdropping.’

Jack shook his head, and his hand drifted from Bitty’s ribs to his shoulder. His shirt fell, sloppy back to his waist, but the only thing he was aware of right then was the heat of Jack’s hand on him. He had known him only a handful of hours, but already he wanted this to last forever.

‘I want to be happy you understood, because it means we’re here,’ Jack signed with one hand. ‘But I hate to think you were hurt.’

‘I told you before, I’ve had worse. Trust me.’ Bitty closed his eyes, then breathed through the memories that still made him a little tight in the chest. It had been years and years, but strangely it never got easier to think about it directly like that.

Jack seemed to read the expression on his face, and he touched Bitty lightly on the chin before pulling back completely. ‘We should eat. And talk.’

Bitty smiled, and nodded, grateful more than he could say for the reprieve. They gathered their food and drink, and curled up on the sofa together for their first, and very unconventional, date.

*** 

‘…that’s when I decided to get the implant,’ Jack said, and brushed the back of his left ear. ‘I removed it after a few years. It didn’t work, and it wasn’t worth it, and the organisation wasn’t happy with my lack of progress.’

Bitty shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

Waving him off, Jack sighed. ‘It was better. I got into Gallaudet, I got my MA in history, went into teaching, now I coach.’ He smiled softly, looking happy, which warmed Bitty to his core. ‘Parse went on to the NHL and we…stopped talking.’ Before Bitty could ask, Jack added, ‘It was for the best. There’s no sense in clinging to a past that was never good for you.’

This wasn’t the first time Bitty had heard stories like that. Stories of the hearing partner pushing for implants, for speech, claiming it was for the best, that it was to make things easier. He’d seen it tear apart families, friendships. It was why Coach never talked to his own parents when Bitty was growing up, it was why Suzanne’s old school friends stopped coming round when Bitty was little and they realised she wasn’t raising her son with English first.

‘He came to see me one more time, right before I got the implant removed,’ Jack went on. ‘At my school. Begged me to keep it, said they could find a place for me in Vegas if I took up speech therapy again, just enough to get through games. He didn’t like my answer.’

‘Fuck him,’ Bitty signed, more venom than he meant to have for a total stranger he’d probably never meet.

Jack laughed, reaching out to squeeze Bitty’s wrist gently. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It isn’t,’ Bitty countered, then shrugged. ‘Well I might not be up on hockey much, but I can tell you Vegas will never have a fan in me.’

Jack laughed again, shifting a little closer now that their food boxes had been moved to the side, and there was nothing between them but tension and hesitance. ‘I’m okay with that. I’m a HABS fan anyway.’

It was Bitty’s turn to laugh, but that quickly softened into a sigh as Jack’s hand reached for him again, warm palm pressed to his cheek, thumb brushing along a cheekbone. His other hand came up, fingers pinched to his thumb, signing one, single word. ‘Kiss.’

Bitty was helpless to do anything but nod, and then tilt his head, and close his eyes, and wait. He was not made to wait long. Jack’s gentle touch became firmer, cradling Bitty’s face, pulling him in, and their lips met. It was chaste. It was soft. It was warm. Jack sighed into it, his mouth parting just slightly, for a careful swipe of tongue. He finished with a series of soft pecks along Bitty’s lips, and then he pulled back.

‘Okay?’ Jack asked.

Bitty nodded. ‘Best,’ he signed.

Jack let out a tiny puff of laughter, more breath though his nose than an actual chuckle, and he shifted again, drawing Bitty closer to him. He was mindful of his bruising, more tender with Bitty than anyone had ever been, and Bitty was pretty sure then he’d never meet anyone like Jack.

He signed as much, when he pulled back for the space to do it. Jack merely smiled, then leant in to kiss him again.

Then again.

And then once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I looked up some ASL Slang (in specific, y'all) and [this](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/i/indexing.htm) is the one I found online.

‘Go away, I’m working,’ Bitty signed for the last time as Holster grinned and pointed enthusiastically on the bag now sat on the end of the counter. ‘Yes, yes, I see it. I’ll be there. Go!’

Holster and Ransom marched away, but after a second, Ransom turned back, poking his head through the door. “Oh! And bring your hot boyfriend with the cute ass.”

Bitty flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Justin.”

“We all know, Bits,” Ransom said. “Time to show him around. We’re not going to embarrass you. Much.”

“Get. Out.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be late,’ he signed, then hurried away after his husband.

Bitty groaned, dropping his head to the top of the counter, and he kept it there until a soft knock on the polished marble startled him. He popped up, eyes wide, an apology ready on his lips until he saw the knocking fist was attached to huge biceps, which was attached to the body and face of his aforementioned ‘hot boyfriend with the cute ass.’

‘Hi,’ Jack signed, a little sheepish. ‘Am I interrupting your sleep?’

Bitty huffed, crossing his arms and pouting until Jack chuckled. ‘No. My friends just came by. Being idiots as usual.’

Jack’s laugh turned into a frown, and he leant against the counter, his expression concerned. ‘What’s wrong? Do you want me to say something to them? I mean, I haven’t practised my speech in a long time but…’

Bitty laughed, waving his hand. ‘No. Actually Holster,’ he said, spelling his name, then giving his sign name, ‘is Deaf and his husband is fluent. You could tell them off just fine.’

Jack squared his shoulders. ‘Where can I find them.’

‘Oh my god,’ Bitty signed, then made a ‘come here’ gesture and smiled when Jack complied. He seized the front of his work shirt, which was already wrinkled from his long day, and he kissed him sweetly. ‘That’s nice of you,’ he said after pulling away. ‘But it’s not a big deal. They’re just throwing their annual Halloween party and it’s got a theme so…’ His eyes flickered over to the over-stuffed bag. ‘They came to bring me my costume.’

Jack’s eyes flickered to the bag, then asked, ‘What’s the theme?’

‘Musicals,’ Bitty said. ‘Holster runs a Deaf Musical Theatre company. Like Deaf West, you know? Only…community.’

Jack snorted a laugh. ‘Right.’

‘So the theme is the productions they’ve done over the last year.’

‘Which are?’ Jack pressed.

Bitty listed off all the ones he could think of, from Hamilton—which had been their most successful to date—to Wicked, Cats, Sweeney Todd, and Addams Family. ‘I think Lardo and her girlfriend are going as Morticia and Gomez.’

Jack grinned. ‘Okay. I can work with that.’

Bitty froze, then signed very slowly, ‘Work with that?’

Jack’s cheeks immediately went pink, and he looked almost mortified. ‘I thought you were,’ his fingers stilled. ‘I thought. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’

‘Jack,’ Bitty signed, almost desperate as Jack started to take a step back. ‘You’re invited. Of course you’re invited.’

Jack’s shoulders relaxed slightly. ‘I know we’ve only had a few dates, but I like you. I just assumed…’

‘Yes,’ Bitty signed, a little too enthusiastic, his elbow knocking off one of the napkin holders. ‘Yes, always assume I want you to come with me.’

Jack laughed, his cheeks still pink, but he looked less embarrassed. ‘Text me the details? I have to run upstairs and get on a skype meeting.’

‘Will you be down for a run?’ Bitty asked, leaning a little closer over the counter. ‘I’m on shift until half six.’

Jack sighed, shaking his head. ‘I have too much marking to take care of. Sorry.’

Bitty bit his lip, then said, ‘So what if I bring you some Thai later? And maybe a couple kisses?’

Jack’s smile went a little darker as he leant in toward Bitty. ‘Just a couple?’

‘I could be persuaded into more,’ Bitty replied.

Jack laughed once more, a quiet little, “haha,” and then curled his hand round the back of Bitty’s neck and kissed him once, twice, a third time before reluctantly dragging himself away with a soft, easy groan in the back of his throat. ‘See you later?’

‘Definitely,’ Bitty replied.

*** 

‘So, what’s your costume?’ Jack asked as they lounged on the sofa. Jack had been feeling a little under the weather, so Bitty had plied him with some spicy, hot tom yum goong and several kisses in spite of Jack’s warning that he didn’t want to get Bitty sick. They made out lazily until their deep kisses trailed off into soft pecks, then Bitty had settled himself on the opposite side of the sofa, his legs tangled with Jack, so they could talk better.

Bitty’s eyes flickered to the bag on the armchair he hadn’t opened, then back to Jack. ‘It’s a surprise.’

Jack pouted a little, kicking at Bitty’s calf. ‘Even to me?’

‘Even to you. I think you’ll like it,’ he replied, though he was a little nervous. Bitty could be a little eccentric at times, and he was never ashamed of it, but he knew that bro-y guys like Jack—even the queer ones—were sometimes put off by Bitty. It had taken him years and years to accept things about himself—that he was never going to be a bro. That it was okay for him to be effeminate and soft and that he didn’t have to give in to hyper masculine culture in order to call himself a man. And he’d done the college thing, he’d felt the pressure to be more of a “frat boy” but in the end, even that hadn’t changed him.

But he was nervous now. He didn’t want to lose Jack, but he also wasn’t willing to compromise who he was to make anyone else happy. He reminded himself that if it was right, if Jack was really the person he was meant to be with, he wouldn’t need to compromise. Jack would love every part of him—when they got there, anyway.

Jack, for his part, didn’t push the issue. Instead he made grabby hands until Bitty crawled over on top of him and splayed out over his chest. One of Jack’s hand sank into his hair, the other drawing a line up and down the centre of his spine, and they took comfort in that—and each other—for the rest of the night.

*** 

**SOS**

_What’s up, sweetheart?_

**I think I’m going to need help with the makeup part of my costume. Can you come over a little early?**

_Of course, sweetpea. See you in half an hour._

_By the way, what costume did you pick?_

**Not telling. Fair’s fair, Bittle.**

_Fine. Spoil-sport. See you in a bit * heart eyes emoji *_

*** smiley emoji ***

*** 

Bitty arrived at Jack’s, fully clothed in his costume. He’d been working on himself for most of the day, perfecting his dress, his hair, the makeup. He was, in the end, excited Jack was going to be the first to see him in it, in spite of his nerves.

He stood at the door for a full minute composing himself before pushing the button to flicker the lights. There was a long, long pause, and then Jack opened the door. 

It was a moment that might have been comical for any passers-by, the way Jack and Bitty both froze and stared at each other. Bitty, because he’d never seen Jack like this before—and he couldn’t entirely figure out what he was going for. He was in a long-sleeved, all-black turtle neck, and tight black trousers which hugged his ass in all the right places. He was clutching something in his hand, black and fuzzy, but he had them off to the side so Bitty couldn’t get a good look.

Jack, most likely, had frozen in place due to the fact that his boyfriend was stood in his doorway wearing a black, Victorian-ish dress with a white apron, fingerless gloves, and an auburn wig styled back in a sort of messy up-do. His make-up was delicate—a smoky eye from the tutorial Lardo had sent him, a slight brush of tinted gloss. He was fairly sure he pulled it off, but he couldn’t entirely read Jack’s expression.

After the long pause, Jack stepped aside, and closed the door with a purposeful click as Bitty stepped in, then turned to face him.

‘I…’ Bitty began.

‘What…' Jack signed at the same time. He flushed. ‘What…’ He stopped, then amended, ‘Who are you?’

‘Mrs Lovett,’ Bitty spelt. ‘From Sweeney Todd?’

Jack shook his head. ‘I didn’t know any of those musicals you told me about. I’m not…but you look,’ his fingers stuttered. He flushed hard, then reached out, curling his hand round Bitty’s shoulder, and drew him in for a light kiss, clearly trying to avoid smearing his makeup.

Bitty laughed, flushing pink as he stepped back and gave Jack an up and down look. ‘Thank you sweetheart. Which one did you pick? I can’t tell.’

Jack glanced down at his costume, then back up at Bitty with a deeper flush to his cheeks, then took what he had in his hand, and pushed it on his head. 

Cat ears.

Oh lord, this boy.

‘Cats,’ Jack signed.

Bitty covered his mouth with the tips of his fingers as several giggles attempted to escape. The pout on Jack’s face only increased his laughter, and soon enough he was nearly doubled over. ‘Jack,’ he signed, his hands a little shaky, ‘Cats is…’ With a sigh, he beckoned Jack over to the sofa, adjusting his skirts before sitting down. He pulled out his phone, then typed Cats, Rum Tum Tugger in the search bar.

Images began to pop up, and he heard Jack’s breath leave in a sort of rush. Bitty enlarged one, and let Jack stare for a few minutes.

When Jack met his eyes, his hands rose slowly. ‘I’m not doing that.’

Bitty’s laugh felt punched out of him, his eyes a little watery with it, and he leant his head on Jack’s shoulder to compose himself for a moment. The affection he felt for this man was almost overwhelming at times. When he pulled back, he was still grinning. ‘That’s okay, sweetheart. We can make this work.’

And they did. With a bit of his leftover eyeliner, he gave Jack a little bit of cat’s eye on his eyes, a round black dot on his nose, then some swooping lines for whiskers. He didn’t look at all like he’d come off stage from Cats, but for whatever reason, it worked.

‘You look gorgeous,’ Bitty told him after putting the make-up away.

Jack hummed, then turned to stare at himself in the mirror. 

Bitty supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when Jack took out his phone to take a selfie with the two of them, but his smile was still a little shaky, and he still held on to Jack just a little tighter.

*** 

Bitty should have assumed that at a Deaf party, Jack would be something of a celebrity. The athlete who turned down the NHL because he refused to assimilate into hearing culture—he was fairly well known. Plus it wasn’t like Holster and Ransom were wrong—Jack’s ass was something of a national treasure.

Jack was pulled away from him as soon as he arrived, and Bitty let him go with a good-natured laugh before slipping in his earplugs and making his way to the dessert table so he could unload the cupcakes and pies he’d promised.

Lardo must have seen the chocolate pie being unboxed, because she seemed to appear out of nowhere. She, as it turned out, was coming as the Gomez half of the Addams’ duo, looking fantastic in her pin-striped suit and badly done fake moustache. She had a thin, unlit cigar pinched between her fingers, and her slicked-back hair shone under the bright lights on the table.

‘What’s up,’ she signed as she eyed the pie.

Bitty waited until she was looking back up, and he rolled his eyes at her. ‘I have one for just you in the car. Don’t forget before you and Jess leave.’

She flung her arms round him, kissing his cheek. ‘I love you.’

‘Drunk already?’ he asked.

‘We had a mimosa pre-gaming party with a bottle of prosecco Jess opened last night. We didn’t want it to go bad,’ she said with a wink. Her eyes roamed across the party, and Bitty followed her gaze until she saw Ford being bench-pressed by Holster.

‘Oh my god,’ Bitty said.

Lardo shrugged, then went in for the pie. ‘Where’s the boy?’

Bitty shrugged, eyes scanning the crowd. ‘I don’t know. He’s the man of the hour. Just look for the guy in the cat costume.’

‘Cats?’ Lardo asked. ‘Which one?’

Bitty laughed, shaking his head. ‘No. Not Cats. Cat.’

As if summoned, Jack suddenly appeared through a throng of people, and his face was tense until he spotted Bitty. He hurried over, waving his apologies to a few people, then tucked his arm round Bitty’s waist, hitching him close. Bitty could feel a slight tremble in his hands, which immediately had him worrying.

‘Jack,’ Bitty said carefully with one hand, his other touching Jack’s trembling fingers, ‘this is Lardo, one of my best friends. Lardo, this is Jack.’

Lardo was giving Jack a very careful look. It was clear she recognised him, but she just offered her fist out to bump, then went back to her pie. ‘The guest bedroom is open if you two need a break,’ she signed after a minute.

Bitty glanced up at Jack, then nodded. ‘Thank you.’ With that, he took Jack’s hand and led him down a short, dark hallway, and into the furthest bedroom.

The light on the nightstand was dim, but bright enough to see, and it was furnished simply—usually for Ransom’s mother when she visited in the summer. But it hadn’t been used in a while, smelt a little musty, but with the door shut, it was secluded.

Bitty turned as Jack sank onto the bed, and his hands—still shaking a little—quickly signed, ‘Sorry.’

Bitty shook his head, grabbing Jack’s hands and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles until Jack’s body went more relaxed. When he looked up, Bitty signed, ‘I’m sorry. I forgot this might be a lot. Ransom and Holster’s parties get a little…wild.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I should have told you it was a rough week for me. But I wanted to be here. With you. And you worked so hard on your costume.’ He reached out, fingering some of the lace at Bitty’s collar, then tugged on a loose strand of the wig that was fluttering near his temple.

Bitty felt another rush of affection for him, and he cupped Jack’s cheek, mindful of the whiskers. ‘Can I tell you a secret?’

Jack hummed quietly, nodding.

‘I didn’t really want to come. I love these guys, and I love spending time with them, but this year I had been looking forward to curling up with you, and maybe passing out candy to the little kids in the building. And Jack…’ Bitty’s hands stilled a moment, trying to find exactly what he wanted to say. ‘If you don’t want to do something, and I do, I’m not going to be upset if you don’t come with me. I could have gone to the party, then come home to you.’

Jack’s cheeks went dark, and his eyes bored into Bitty’s for a long moment before he replied, ‘Home with me. I like that.’

‘Yeah?’ Bitty asked.

Jack pushed up from the bed, crowding Bitty back, and back, and back until he hit the wall, and Jack was looming over him. ‘Yes,’ he signed, his fist firm with purpose and meaning. ‘I’m falling in love with you.’

“Oh,” Bitty said aloud, unable to stop himself. It made Jack’s mouth stretch into a grin, his hand coming up to brush the corner of Bitty’s mouth, then down to brush the side of his throat. “Oh,” Bitty said again, for Jack to feel.

Jack licked his lips, then ducked his head down and captured Bitty’s mouth with his own. It was warm, full of a passion they’d been avoiding most of the night, and Bitty knew that their make-up was fucked, but it was the very last thing in the world he cared about. All he wanted now was to feel Jack’s tongue sliding against his own, Jack’s fingers working against the sides of his dress, Jack’s knee trying to find space between Bitty’s thighs.

It wasn’t working out well with the dress, with the wig, and before long they broke apart in a series of giggles.

‘I’d rather go home,’ Bitty admitted.

Jack nodded, breathing heavy as he pushed his forehead against Bitty’s for a short moment. When he pulled back, he made a soft noise, his mouth dipping into a frown when he swiped his finger at the edge of Bitty’s nose.

It came away black, and it took Bitty only a second to realise it was from Jack. The painted nose and whiskers were a distant memory now, just smudges against Jack’s flushed skin, and Bitty sighed.

‘There’s no chance we’re getting out of here looking like we weren’t just making out, is there?’ he asked.

Jack laughed, shaking his head. He did, however, seize the hem of Bitty’s apron and did his best to clean them both up. It wasn’t perfect—they were too obvious—but Bitty found he didn’t care. Not when Jack’s hand was in his.

He knew he’d have hell to pay, and probably a lifetime of chirping to get through for leaving early, but with Jack’s palm warm against his own, with Jack pressed to his side and knowing what was waiting for him just inside Jack’s apartment door, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

‘Happy Halloween, y’all,’ Bitty signed to the party, and then, amidst all the protests, he and Jack were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something about Bitty meeting Jack's parents in this universe so this is what happened. To all my Jewish followers, שנה טובה ומתוקה

Things Eric Bittle did not appreciate—getting a phone call on a Wednesday morning from his boss saying that his co-worker was unexpectedly ill and could he please pull a couple of double shifts through Friday even though he was supposed to have the next three days off? It wasn’t like Bitty’s social life was busy, and half the time the juice bar was slow enough he could get all the studying done he needed to—and actually that week Jack was busy enough, Bitty didn’t expect to see him at all. 

He’d gotten one text. **High Holidays, sorry, see you Sunday?**

_Of course, sweetpea. Miss you._

**Miss you too, Bits.**

And that was it, and it was good enough. Bitty had enough on his plate that he didn’t need to fuss over not seeing Jack every night that week. They’d been together nearly a year now, their anniversary coming up in just a handful of weeks, and Bitty knew he’d get time with Jack then. And it was good enough. Both of them were absurdly busy all the time as it was that their time together tended to be quick take-away and cuddles on the couch.

It was good though. Without pressure or expectation, just being in love and knowing that when Bitty was done with grad school and moving on to his career, there would also be a future here, with Jack.

So now it was just gone nine, Bitty having come in for the closing shift, and he was tidying up the quick influx of gym-goers’ orders from the people who ran at night. The place wasn’t too bad, as Thursday had been pretty slow, and he was looking forward to the short drive home and maybe a soak in the tub.

He just stood up after cleaning out the mini-fridge under the counter when he froze. His eyes immediately locked on his boyfriend who was stood just outside the glass doors, looking as startled as Bitty looked.

After a beat, Jack quickly pushed through, striding across the floor toward him. Bitty’s heart beat a little faster—like it did every time he laid eyes on Jack, like it did for the past year with no signs of slowing. Jack’s mouth curved into a smile, and his hand rose a little shyly for a hello.

‘I thought you had the next few days off,’ Jack signed.

Bitty rolled his eyes. ‘I did, until Derek caught the flu. Now I’m here all week. It’s okay, I got studying done.’ Bitty took a moment to appreciate the way Jack looked right then. Dapper in his shirt sleeves and pressed trousers. Bitty saw the edge of his kippah still pinned to his hair in the back, which was styled neatly just above his ears with what looked like a fresh cut. ‘How are you?’

‘Exhausted,’ Jack confessed. After a short hesitation, he pressed his palm to the counter, leaning toward Bitty for a kiss. 

Bitty took Jack’s hand gently in his, squeezing, and when he looked down he saw the tips of his fingers were stained purple. He looked up with a frown, letting go. ‘What’s that?’

Jack looked down, then flushed. ‘Pomegranate,’ he spelt. ‘Rosh Hashanah,’ he spelt, then showed Bitty the sign for. ‘Jewish new year.’

Bitty brightened. ‘Oh! Happy New Year.’

Jack chuckled. ‘Thank you,’ he signed, then grabbed Bitty again and kissed him, soundly and sweetly. ‘My parents are upstairs so I need to go…’ His eyes flickered toward the doors, and he let out a sigh. ‘Sorry.’

Bitty shook his head. ‘I didn’t expect to see you before Sunday, so it’s fine.’ He felt a wave of nerves in his belly knowing that Jack’s parents were so close. The summer had ended up busier than Bitty had expected, and Jack’s parents had ended up travelling over-seas, so any chance of meeting them hadn’t happened. Bitty had seen them a couple of times over skype at the tail end of Jack’s calls, but so far it was still something they hadn’t approached yet. And he was definitely not going to push it.

Jack’s face, however, started telling Bitty something different. ‘Maybe,’ he signed, then his hands hesitated, hovering in front of him. ‘Dinner? Saturday night?’

Bitty felt himself flush from head to toe out of nerves. ‘Jack…’

‘You don’t need to,’ Jack signed quickly, misinterpreting Bitty’s expression. ‘I know we didn’t talk about it and it’s sudden.’

‘I would love to meet your parents,’ Bitty said, grinning at him. ‘I’m nervous, but I love you.’

Jack’s face transformed, bright and happy which sent a thrill up Bitty’s spine. ‘Yeah?’

Bitty laughed. ‘Yes, sweetheart. Saturday is perfect.’

‘My dad likes the afternoon, so we’ll be back here around six. Want to meet at seven?’

Bitty smiled softly. ‘Seven is perfect. I’m working in the morning, then I have to do a skype call with my advisor. Do you want me to bring anything?’

‘Just you,’ Jack signed and reached out, brushing his knuckles down the cut of Bitty’s jaw. Bitty flushed hard again, and leant in for the kiss he knew was coming. Jack pulled away after a series of slow, pulling pecks across Bitty’s mouth. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘Me too,’ Bitty signed, and grinned as Jack finally peeled himself away, and walked back through the doors.

*** 

Bitty was just hitching his bag to his shoulder, the heavy weight of his books more annoying than usual, and was just pushing through the doors when he came smacking into a large, broad chest in front of him. He blinked up and said, “Jack,” without thinking.

But clearly it wasn’t Jack.

The salt and pepper hair at his temples, the crinkle near his brown eyes. It wasn’t Jack at all.

“Oh my god,” Bitty muttered.

Bad Bob Zimmermann.

Bob chuckled, steading Bitty with a hand on his shoulder. “You must be Eric.”

Bitty flushed, mortified, but he managed his most polite smile, and extended his hand to shake. “That I am. I’m sorry, sir, but you and Jack look so much alike.”

“Just never tell him that,” Bob said softly. “He likes to think he’s better looking.”

“He is,” Bitty said without thinking ,then clapped his hand over his mouth. “Oh my lord I didn’t mean…I just…”

“It’s alright, son,” Bob said.

Bitty swallowed thickly. “Ah hah yeah so I should…it’s been a long night and I swear my brain is leaking out my dang ears from all this research. But um. Jack invited me for dinner Saturday so…”

“I can’t wait,” Bob said, then held the front door for Bitty, who scrambled off and hoped Bob would never, ever mention it to his son.

*** 

Bitty, of course, was not that lucky.

**Did you tell my dad I’m better looking than he is?**

_Just kill me now, okay? Good bye, cruel world. It’s been nice, Jack. I hope you find someone to comfort you._

**It’s not that bad, Bits. He’s thrilled about it. It’s pretty disgusting.**

_I literally ran into him, Jack. Like with my body. Like a moron. Then I called him Jack, THEN I told him you were better looking. RIP Eric Richard Bittle._

**I love you.**

_Lord only knows why, Jack. But I love you too._

**I wish you were here, if only to wipe this smug look off his face. He’s been telling me for months now you’re The One and I hate it when he’s right.**

_Oh I…_

**That’s a lie. In this case, I think I love it.**

_Warn a boy before you lay all this sappy stuff on him, Jack. My heart is small and gay, it can’t take this much sugar!_

**Better have something with a lot of protein in it then, Bittle.**

_When will the lord spare me these chirps. Shouldn’t you be in bed?_

**I’m not the one who worked all night.**

_You’re right. Good night Jack. Good night forever._

_Or well. Until Saturday._

**[image selfie: Jack holding up the I Love You sign]**

_You are the best thing that ever happened to me, sweetpea. Talk soon, okay?_

**Night, bud.**

_Night._

Bitty fell asleep that night with the phone clutched to his chest, and a smile on his face.

*** 

With the two pies balanced on his arm, Bitty told himself it totally wasn’t weird at all that he’d spent an hour on google trying to find random bits of information about Jack’s parents—and that reading an interview Alicia had done with Vogue listing her favourite pie as coconut cream, and Bob having written a survey—in blue crayon no less—saying he would give his right arm for a good sugar pie—wasn’t creepy. He had half considered asking Jack about it, but he knew his boyfriend would chirp him mercilessly about trying to kiss his parents’ asses, so he just went with it and hoped for the best.

He stood outside of Jack’s door for a full three minutes composing himself, preparing to meet two celebrities. And it was a little ridiculous that he was getting flustered. Yes, they were rich, and known in some circles—Alicia’s circles wider than Bob’s—but they were also people. They were the two people who had raised his boyfriend to be the wonderful, amazing man he was. They were no different to his own parents.

Mostly.

Or well, probably not at all.

But whatever, they were people.

Just before Bitty raised his hand to ring Jack’s buzzer, the door swung open and Jack stood there with a tiny smirk on his face. When Bitty’s eyes went wide, Jack chuckled. ‘My dad said he thought he heard something out here. I had a feeling it was you freaking out.’

Bitty rolled his eyes, and let Jack grab his arm, dragging him in through the door. He was kissed promptly, and grateful wherever Jack’s parents were, they weren’t there to witness the sappy display. When Jack pulled back, Bitty had relaxed quite a bit.

‘Pies?’ Jack asked, stepping back for signing space.

‘Pies,’ Bitty replied, and walked to the kitchen to put them on the counter. He turned back to Jack. ‘Coconut cream and sugar pie.’

Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been texting my dad?’

Bitty’s entire face went flush. ‘Would you believe me if I said it was a good guess?’

Jack’s face spoke volumes. ‘He stole your number from my phone, didn’t he?’

Bitty couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t know what’s worse. That or the truth.’

Jack approached him slowly, menacingly. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded.

Bitty sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard before releasing it. ‘I…used google.’

‘You used google,’ Jack repeated, his fingers flying through the letters.

Bitty licked his lips. ‘I knew you were going to chirp me if I asked you about their favourite pies, so I looked up old interviews. I want them to like me!’ he protested with a pout.

Jack laughed, loudly, and dragged Bitty against his chest, cupping his cheek. He shook his head slowly, then leant in and kissed Bitty, a long, soft, drawn-out thing. When he pulled back, he let out a tiny sigh, humming with it. ‘They’re going to love you. Because I love you.’

Bitty couldn’t help his ghost of a grin, and finally, _finally_ let Jack drag him to the living room where his parents waited.

*** 

Bitty wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. He’d dated almost exactly zero, and he had some friends he’d met who were Deaf with hearing parents, but he was pretty impressed with how fluent the Zimmermanns were, even if their speed was slow. They were pretty up to date on their slang, though Jack didn’t hesitate in chirping his dad when Bob used something outdated, but it was nice. And not a single minute did anyone lapse into speech.

It made Bitty’s heart swell, but there was also the sting of jealousy hidden behind it. It was clear Bob and Alicia lived for their son, clear that his happiness was one of the most important things to him. They seemed to accept him exactly as he was, and Bitty felt that missing from his own relationship with his parents keenly.

He tried not to let it taint the evening, though, feeling more relaxed as they had wine, as the Zimmermanns exclaimed over pie and declared that Bitty had gotten it exactly right. And declared it was endearing, not creepy, when Bitty’s traitor boyfriend sold him out on his google habits.

“What do your parents do?” Alicia asked after Jack and Bob had gone out for another bottle of wine.

Bitty startled at the sound of her voice, then laughed. “Ah well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers feeling strange now that he wasn’t using them to communicate. “My mother teaches school—teaches at a Deaf school,” he amended. “She wants to get into administration for a few years before she retires, but she’s worried about the drama.” He gave a small laugh thinking about the last conversation he’d had with Suzanne. “My dad’s a football coach at the high school.”

“Hearing high school?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Bitty said, flushing because he’d been already chirped for his manners, but he couldn’t’ seem to stop himself. Alicia just gave him an indulgent smile. “He’s got implants,” Bitty absently made the sign for cochlear implants. “He just uses them at school. He loves his boys so…” The words tasted a little bitter in his mouth. Bitty admired the loyalty his dad had for those boys, but still burned with resentment from his middle school days when coach had always, _always_ taken their side. “I don’t see them much.”

“Well, you know we’d love to meet them,” she said, then sipped what was left in her wine glass.

Bitty flushed again. “Ah. I mean that would be…it’s only that I haven’t um…” He took a breath. “I’m not really out. Like I’m…I’m out, sort of. But not. Well. We haven’t…”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, leaning forward to touch his knee. “Sweeheart, I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t realise, but I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Bitty shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I ought to, really. I love Jack so much and I want…I want that.”

Her smile widened. “The longest conversation I’ve ever had with my son was the day after he met you.”

“Oh lord,” Bitty whispered, thinking of that night—the gym, what Shitty said.

Alicia laughed. “He was so nervous, but so thrilled. After your first date, he got Bob on skype and honestly, he told me he’s never seen Jack so happy.”

Bitty couldn’t hide his huge grin. “Well the feeling’s mutual. I mean, if you were worried. Which I hope you weren’t.”

“Of course we worried,” Alicia admitted, “but seeing you two together…I don’t think I am. Not anymore. I didn’t think we were going to get a chance to meet you, so this has been an unexpected joy.”

Bitty laughed. “Me too, Mrs Zimmermann. I’m glad I got roped into working those extra shifts.”

*** 

The Zimmermanns were at a hotel down the street, so Jack and Bitty said goodbye at the door, then Jack closed it and looked Bitty dead in the eye as he flicked the lock. The clicking sound of it shot right up Bitty’s spine, and he had a single moment to prepare himself before Jack had him pushed against the door, a leg between his thighs, warm mouth pressed over his.

Jack groaned, pulling back slightly. ‘Bed?’

Bitty nodded, and let Jack haul him up, over his shoulder, and to the bedroom. Bitty was well used to being manhandled by Jack, and well used to being flung unceremoniously onto the soft duvet that was never, ever made. He snuggled backward against the pillows, turning his face up for more kisses, which rained down on him until he could barely breathe.

Jack pulled back after a few minutes, cupping Bitty’s cheek for a minute, then pulled back more for signing space. ‘My parents really liked you.’

‘That’s good?’ Bitty asked.

Jack laughed, kissing him once, twice, a third time. ‘That’s very good. Because I like you. I was thinking…’ His hands stilled, and Bitty could see the way his face flickered through emotions, like he was nervous or hesitant. ‘You graduate soon.’

‘Yes,’ Bitty replied. ‘Why?’

Jack pushed his palm over the beat of Bitty’s heart, like the feel of it thumping was calming him. He pulled away, then signed, ‘I’d like to talk about moving in together.’

For just a split second, Bitty’s vision whited out from shock. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, or that he hadn’t considered it—he’d seen their path going that way—but he hadn’t expected it.

‘Are you okay?’ Jack asked.

‘Fine,’ Bitty said, his thump hitting the centre of his chest a little harder than he meant to.

Jack’s face was full of purpose still, and determination. ‘I like to set my intentions for the new year. Normally it’s be better. Work harder. Run more. But since I met you, it’s different.’ Jack licked his lips, shifting so he was nearly sat on the tops of Bitty’s thighs. ‘Since I met you, I’m happier and I want more of that. My intentions for this new year is to be happier with you. And part of that would be maybe thinking about living together.’

Bitty swallowed, digesting all of that, letting himself bask a little in know that Jack wanted this, wanted _him_ just as much as Bitty wanted Jack. ‘My lease is up in November.’ That was only two months away, which was soon. So soon.

Jack stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching, as though anticipating a joyful smile. ‘Would you want to…’

‘Yes,’ Bitty interrupted, and Jack laughed, seizing the front of his shirt to draw him in for a kiss. When he pulled back, Bitty signed, ‘Yes,’ one more time. Then, ‘I’d like to tell my parents.’

Jack looked startled. ‘Are you sure?’

Bitty nodded, determined. ‘I don’t know how they’re going to react, but I want to tell them. I love you, and I don’t want to hide you. I want to be able to tell my momma that the boy I fell in love with wants me to move in with him, wants to start a life with me. I’m nervous, but I’m not afraid.’

Jack’s grin was blinding, and it took no time at all for him to grab Bitty by the backs of his knees, drag him flat to the mattress, and show him exactly how happy he was.

*** 

Bitty woke with the sun gently streaming through the curtains. Jack was just coming into the bedroom, looking sweaty from his run, and happy as he ever did. When he realised Bitty was awake, he knelt down by the edge of the bed, dragging his fingers back through Bitty’s hair.

‘Morning,’ he signed.

Bitty grinned at him. ‘Good run?’

Jack nodded. ‘My dad went with me. He can’t keep up anymore.’

Bitty giggled, rolling to his side to push his face into Jack’s neck, breathing in the musky scent of him. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, but it was very _Jack_ , and he loved it all the same. Rolling back, he bit his lip through a smile. ‘So. You ready to move me in?’

‘I’d do it tomorrow if I could. But two months is a good time to pack, to make you space here. I want to do this right more than fast.’

Bitty felt a rush of emotion cascading up and down his spine, and he clutched his hand into a fist in the front of Jack’s tank top. The look on Jack’s face mirrored his own—happy, content, safe. It wasn’t Bitty’s new year, but it felt like something had renewed. His determination to be happy, and not just with himself, but with this gorgeous man sat in front of him.

It was going to be so, so good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ahhhh vaguely biographical. In canon I think Suzanne and Coach are going to be mostly supportive and I like the relationship Bitty has with them. But I'm using them now to vent some feelings I have about my own family who are...less than. 
> 
> CW for this chapter: implied homophobia from family.

Bitty was practically vibrating with excitement, like he was seconds away from shaking out of his skin. The words of the email were racing through his brain, in a way like he understood them, but couldn’t fully comprehend that someone of that calibre was actually interested in reading his work, would actually give him a letter of recommendation if he needed it, if he was going for his Ph.D. That a person like _him_ believed Bitty could do it, and do it well.

He floated through the front doors, and floated behind the juice counter, and smiled serenely as his co-worker clocked out and left for the afternoon. It didn’t matter that he was still working at a juice bar—it didn’t matter he wasn’t exactly where he thought he’d be now. He had an amazing boyfriend, he had wonderful friends, and he had a bright future that someone thought could get even brighter, as long as he was willing to put in the hard work.

Bitty was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice his boyfriend sliding up to the counter, perched with one curled fist holding up his chin, until he turned. He jumped nearly a foot in the air, and rolled his eyes at Jack’s tiny giggle.

‘What are you doing?’ Bitty demanded.

Jack shrugged. ‘Thought I’d come in for a kiss before I go upstairs. What time are you done tonight?’

‘I’m closing,’ Bitty signed, and he tried to look casual, but he failed. Miserably. He watched Jack’s eyebrows raise toward his hairline, his face showing his curiosity plainly. Bitty gnawed on his lower lip, staring at Jack. Jack stared back—a battle of wills. Bitty knew he wasn’t going to last, so he leant in, curled his hand into Jack’s collar, and tugged him in for a slow kiss.

Jack was droopy-eyed and soft when they broke apart, and he squeezed one of Bitty’s wrists before moving all the way back. ‘Whatever is making you look like that, can you tell me now, or do I have to wait?’

Bitty became aware of Jack’s anxiety almost immediately, and he shook his head. ‘You don’t have to wait. I can tell you now. Actually I should…let me show you,’ he said, and fumbled for his phone. 

The email was still on the screen, so all he had to do was flick it open and hand it over.

He stood back as Jack took it and he felt his stomach squirming with anticipation and worry. Maybe he was making too big a deal out of this. Maybe this happened all the time. Maybe he was becoming suddenly narcissistic and…

“Oh my god.” The sound of Jack’s voice startled Bitty out of his spiralling thoughts, and Bitty looked up with wide eyes as Jack dropped the phone gently onto the counter and flung himself round to take Bitty in his arms. “Oh my god,” he whispered again, right against Bitty’s ear.

Bitty started to laugh, pulling back from Jack so he could sign with one hand, ‘Yes? It’s good, right?’

‘It’s amazing,’ Jack signed widely, dropping Bitty down so he had the use of both hands to show his emphasis. ‘I am so proud of you, bud. I am so proud.’

Bitty flushed from head to toe, and let Jack crowd him up against the frozen fruit case, kissing him and kissing him until Bitty realised that if they kept going, it was going to be a _problem_ for the rest of his shift. He pushed Jack back gently, and brushed his thumb over his lip before signing, ‘Later?’

Jack nodded firmly. ‘Later,’ he signed back, the sharpness of his fingers telling Bitty exactly what was waiting for him after his shift. Knowing they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, Jack wisely moved back round the counter, but he continued to smile and he picked up Bitty’s phone to read it again. ‘Are you going to do it?’

‘Yes,’ Bitty signed, then dragged a hand down his face. ‘I’m so nervous though. Having someone like him, a Yale professor, read my thesis? Offer me critique? Offer me a letter of recommendation? Wanting to work with me later?’ Bitty’s signs got wider and wider, and he tried to calm himself down. ‘I never thought I would be good enough for this.’

Jack’s brow furrowed in immediate concern. ‘Bits…’

Bitty shook his head. ‘I mean, when I decided to go to grad school, I was afraid my parents were right. It was a waste of money, I could do something else with my time, I was never focussed, my ADD would make it impossible to really get anywhere. I had to find a job that I could do without any of that getting in the way and this just…’ Bitty’s hands stilled in the air, mid-sign as he gathered his thoughts. ‘I’m glad I could prove them wrong.’

‘I never doubted you,’ Jack said.

And although Jack hadn’t known Bitty that long, hadn’t been round when Bitty had made this decision, the sentiment was everything. It warmed him to his core, and he let out a tiny sigh. ‘Get out of here before I hop over this counter and climb you like a tree.’

Jack’s cheeks pinked, his smile widening. ‘Not really incentive for me to go.’

Bitty shoved at him over the counter. ‘Go, you silly, ridiculous man. Let me get through this shift and we can celebrate properly.’

‘Yes,’ Jack signed with emphasis. ‘We will.’

Bitty watched him leave, and the moment he was out of sight, Bitty’s phone buzzed.

**Jack: <3 **

Bitty felt like he was floating all over again.

*** 

Bitty stood outside the classroom door, nervously twisting his fingers together, debating whether or not he was actually going to do this. He had a visitor’s badge pinned to the front of his cardigan and it wasn’t like he thought Jack would be angry at him for sneaking in to watch him teach a class. They frequently joked about it—Bitty always telling Jack that as often as he came to leer at Bitty making juice for the gym-goers, Bitty ought to do the same to Jack. And Jack always got his serious face on and told him, ‘Yes. You should do that.’

It had been a bad day—a huge argument with his mother over skype left Bitty reconsidering whether or not he wanted to get on the plane in a few days to bring Jack there. And honestly he just needed something—anything—to take his mind off of it.

He’d been close to campus and the thought had popped into his head.

So now, here he was, trying to convince himself to go in.

Jack’s class was history—one of the first colleges in the country to offer sign language-led GenEds for Deaf students who attended the university. Jack had jumped at the chance to be able to teach History at a college level, so he’d signed up for a Monday and Wednesday night course.

Presently he was stood at the smartboard, the little stylus in his hand, writing out a sloppy time-line on the white screen.

Bitty decided to take that chance with Jack looking away, and he slipped inside. He didn’t anticipate the little alert on Jack’s desk which flashed at him, and he froze as Jack immediately stopped writing and turned toward Bitty. His eyes widened, and Bitty’s face immediately flared bright red.

Jack turned, crossing his arms over his chest, staring pointedly, and when Bitty gestured to the badge on his chest, Jack snorted, rolled his eyes, then gestured to an open desk near the side. The class was set in a slight half circle so each signing student could be seen.

Bitty felt every single eye in the class keenly on him. He offered a sheepish smile, then bowed his head as he slipped into the desk and folded his hands primly. The embarrassment started to fade, and anticipation took its place. He was about to watch Jack in his element, be part of something Jack loved more than anything in the world. Bitty had been subjected to more than a few of Jack’s impassioned history rants, but this was different. This was Jack heading up a class full of people who paid good money to learn these things from a professor who cared.

His knee shook gently under the desk, and his eyes were fixated on the way Jack was drawing the timeline.

When he finished, he turned back to the class. His eyes lingered on Bitty for a moment, then he stepped in front of his desk, leant back on it, and signed, ‘So who wants to walk us through?’

*** 

Watching Jack was everything and nothing like he expected. The novelty of Bitty in his class wore off after a while, it seemed, because Jack went back to ignoring him, and engaging the students who were eager to participate. They had long discussions and Bitty watched Jack become excited every time a student had a theory different from his own.

Bitty was more than content to sit in the background and just exist, and he felt like he was doing just that until the class was nearing the end. Bitty noticed everyone getting a little fidgety, and he noticed a few of the students trying to sign surreptitiously to Jack once or twice—but he didn’t really think anything of it.

At least, not until Jack turned to him at the end of the lecture and signed, ‘Mr Bittle, would you like to add anything since you decided to join us today?’

Bitty flushed bright red. ‘I don’t think I have anything worth sharing.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Jack signed, his mouth quirked in a wry grin. ‘Class, Eric Bittle just received a rather prestigious offer from a professor who teaches at Yale.’ There was a notable shift in the class, and Bitty didn’t need to look over to see that all their attention was on him. But it didn’t feel related to the lecture, or to the information Jack seemed happy to give out in spite of none of these students having any idea who he was.

Or so he thought.

‘Do it,’ the student to Bitty’s right signed.

Bitty blinked, then looked at Jack with worry on his face. ‘Do what? Jack?’

Jack passed a hand down his face, groaned loudly, then nodded and walked back to his desk. Bitty felt his heart speed up, no idea what was going on, but he knew it was something, and it was big, and he was trying to prepare himself for whatever the _hell_ was about to happen.

Jack dug round in one of the drawers for a moment, closed it with a snick, and then marched up to Bitty, a look of steely purpose on his face. His gaze flickered to the students who were watching—their expressions hungry—then Jack sank to his knees.

No. He sank to one knee.

Bitty swore that in that moment his spirit left his body, and he was only half aware of the signs Jack was using.

‘…everything to me. I was going to do this somewhere else, but my students are bullies, and I’ve been talking to them about this for months now, so I guess they get the privilege of seeing me ask you to be my husband.’

Bitty blinked. His vision went blurred, and his throat tight. He cleared his throat and his hands managed a weak shake through the sign, ‘What?’

Jack reached into the space where his crooked thigh met belly, and pulled out a small box. He didn’t open it. He placed it on the desk and slid it toward Bitty.

Bitty’s hands were almost shaking too hard to manage it, but he did, after three tries. It was a simple ring, nestled in black velvet, platinum and thick and perfect. Bitty licked his lips, and for whatever reason signed, ‘How did you know my size?’

Jack threw his head back and laughed, then reached with grabby hands to pull Bitty to his feet. With one hand he asked, ‘Is it a yes?’

Bitty couldn’t stop his grin, wide and threatening to split his face in half. ‘It’s a yes.’

He kissed Jack amidst the cheers, knuckles knocking on desks, hands waving in the air.

*** 

Bitty lay splayed out on their bed, sated, a little sweaty, losing himself quietly in the feel of Jack pressing soft kisses to the sides of his ribs. Jack was leant up on one elbow, his eyes soft and lazy, one hand tracing the outline of Bitty’s hip.

‘I can’t believe you proposed in your class,’ Bitty signed after a while.

Jack leant forward to bury his giggles into Bitty’s warm skin. When he pulled back, he signed with one hand, ‘I can’t believe you showed up today. I was going to do it at dinner. I got your text about your mom right before class and I told them it was happening.’

‘Meant to be,’ Bitty signed, and for that he was rewarded with Jack pushing up, hovering over him, and kissing him—kissing him, until he couldn’t breathe. 

Jack flopped back down, still grinning, reaching for Bitty’s hand. Bitty held it up, watching the light play off the gorgeous band, and he thought about the secret he’d been holding on to. The secret sat in a similarly shaped box hidden amidst his socks, waiting for Georgia. He had wanted to do it there, in his childhood bedroom, a way to re-write some of the uglier memories of existing there as a closeted gay boy who wasn’t sure he’d ever get his happy ending.

And now he lay here with a ring nestled on his finger, with a man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with him _because_ of everything Bitty was, not in spite of it. And he wondered if maybe he should just do it now. Get the ring and get down on one knee, and show up to his mother’s place hand-in-hand with Jack with physical, tangible evidence that his mother was wrong, that Bitty could find everything he’d ever wanted in life without having to change a thing.

He wanted to hold Jack’s hand and see his ring there.

The decision was made. Making memories in Georgia was nice, but letting Jack know Bitty had been thinking about this almost from their first date was better.

He pushed Jack away, holding up a finger for him to wait, and scrambled to the drawer. There would be nothing fancy about this. No planned speech, no classroom audience, no frills, no fuss. Just Bitty turning round with a box in his hand and a question at the tips of his fingers.

Jack’s eyes widened when he realised what was happening. His own fingers trembled as he took the box from Bitty, and let him ask the simple question. ‘Will you marry me, too?’

Jack tackled him to the bed, and devoured his mouth, his fingers still shaking as they brushed up and down Bitty’s ribs. When he pulled back, he didn’t sign, just nodded and plucked the ring from the velvet and slipped it on.

He looked down, then up at Bitty with a grin and signed, ‘It’s a little big.’

Bitty tackled him backward, straddling his hips, crossing his arms over his bare chest for a moment as Jack, laughing, looked up at him. ‘That’s why I asked. I had to guess.’

‘It’s still perfect,’ Jack signed. He reached for Bitty’s left hand, and let their fingers tangle together. Bitty could feel the way they clinked off each other, and he realised he’d be able to experience that for the rest of his life.

The day had been shit. It truly had, but it had ended possibly better than any day he’d ever had, and that was enough to make him forget the heavy weight on the horizon of taking Jack to Georgia with him.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ Jack said, brushing a gentle touch down Bitty’s cheek. ‘I promise, it’s going to be okay.’

The simple fact that Jack knew what Bitty was thinking without even being told, and knew the exact thing to make him feel better told Bitty that yeah…yeah. It was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack teaching a University-level History class to Deaf students not in a Deaf University is me projecting a hope that classes like that will happen one day. Presently I don't think there are any but who knows for the future, right?


	6. Interlude: 3 times Bob soothed Jack with his singing and 1 time Jack soothed his own son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you are waiting for Bitty and Jack's trip to Georgia, but since I'm kind of basing Bitty's experience with the Bittles on my own experiences with my family, I need to gather a lot of strength to write that chapter. It's not going to be super tragic, it's just going to be filled with a lot of low-key homophobia and high-key passive aggression which takes a lot out of me. I've actually had to deal with my family over the past few days which was A Lot, so I wrote this to kind of...idk, have some feels?
> 
> It's a 3+1 fic. Three times Bob soothed Jack with song, and 1 time Jack soothes his own son. So a trip to the past, and a trip to the future.
> 
> This chapter does deal a lot with audism--forced oralism, bad speech therapists. From my research, Quebec seems to be heavily oralist when it comes to Deaf education. Bob and Alicia will have some struggle with how to raise a deaf child since neither of them came from the Deaf Community- but in my years of teaching at a Deaf school, I was lucky to meet a lot of parents like this who were focussed heavily on what was best for their children, and not how to mould them into a hearing society. And I totally HC the Zimmermanns being like that.
> 
> This chapter also does deal with the aftermath of Jack's OD, but the OD isn't mentioned in detail. All the same, if that's hard for you, please take caution.

1.

Alicia woke to the sound of something soft, melodic, sweet drifting under the bedroom door. She was up with a slight jolt to her steps, as she’d been doing since Jack was born. Motherhood hadn’t suited her the way it had a lot of her friends—she felt clumsy and confused, uncertain about herself as a mother. It had been confusing in the hospital, when the nurse had come back with her son in the little plastic cot and the news that he’d failed the hearing test.

“It might be nothing. You’ll just need to follow up with his doctor later.”

Test after test after test. Jack was six months old and each test had come back with more and more hearing loss until the doctor had said, with a sombre look, “The tests have all concluded that Jack has profound deafness and there’s not much we can do about it. There are options—cochlear implants, hearing aids. Whatever you choose, it’s best to start him early.”

Bob had been on a roadie, and Alicia had borne the weight of that news on her own for five days.

It had settled now, a little more than it had when she’d first been told. She wasn’t afraid of Jack being deaf, but she was afraid she wasn’t cut out to be the best mother she could be, to a son who would need to navigate the world differently than she did. Of course her life had always been chaos—going into modelling and acting straight out of University, marrying one of Hockey’s most notorious players.

This just seemed right in line with everything, but now it meant another life was in her hands. She was responsible for giving this child the best start possible, and she wasn’t sure she could do that.

With a breath, she listened closer to see if Jack was crying, but the only sound was the continued singing. She pushed the bedroom door open, creeping across the hall into the nursery where Bob stood. He was on a string of home games, which meant although he would be exhausted, he was home at night to see his son—and she knew what that meant to him. Several times now he’d threatened to retire, until she reminded him he would resent himself for it.

She could see it coming soon though. Bob had been playing a long time, and hockey didn’t bring him the same amount of joy as seeing Jack’s smile did.

Bob was in the centre of the room, cradling Jack to his chest. He was gently swaying in one place, his face tipped down, and his mouth was moving with a gentle song. _“Numi, numi k'tanati, numi, numi, nim. Abba halach la'avoda - halach, halach Abba. Yashuv im tzeit halevana - yavi lach matana…”_

He had Jack’s tiny fist in his hand, pressed to the side of his mouth, and he carried on until he noticed Alicia stood there, clutching the doorframe so tight, her knuckles had gone yellow-white with tension.

Bob’s cheeks pinked just slightly. “I…I know he can’t hear me but I thought he could…feel it? My mother used to sing this to me. He was crying and I just…I wanted to help.”

Alicia crossed the room in a few quick strides, easing herself into Bob’s side. Her hand went out automatically, brushing through Jack’s rich black hair which was thickening as each month passed. His eyes were bright, but sleepy, heavy-lidded. He seemed ready to settle back in.

“I think he likes it,” she said quietly.

Bob huffed a laugh. “Maybe it’s a blessing he can’t hear my singing.”

Alicia swallowed, the sentiment appreciated, but she wasn’t sure how much to mourn the fact that Jack couldn’t in fact, hear his father. He likely never would. She’d done so much reading, but resources were so small. The other day she’d seen a pair of adults at the supermarket signing to each other, their fingers moving rapidly, faces bright with smiles.

She cried for five minutes in her car from the fear of not knowing. Would that be them someday? Would she be capable of learning?

Jack’s doctor was putting more and more pressure on them about the implant, insisting if they wanted it to be a success it had to be done soon. Both Bob and Alicia were uncertain. If Jack had been born this way, was it up to them to change it? Would he truly be better off? Were the risks to her son worth something so insignificant as hearing?

She was so ill-equipped to deal with this. Had she known a single Deaf person in her life, she might have felt better, but she didn’t. It was so much.

But she looked over again, as Bob began to sing once more. She watched Jack’s tiny fist open and close on his father’s hand, watched him soothed by the vibrations of Bob’s voice against his hand, against the side of his face as he nuzzled into his father’s chest. Safe. Content.

No parent was perfect, and maybe that was okay.

2\. 

There was a sort of intensity about his excitement, Bob knew, which made him feel a little ridiculous over the fact that he was all-but vibrating out of his skin at the joy of being able to pick Jack up from his school. The move back to Montreal had been difficult—Bob had mixed feelings about this place which had provided him, a Jewish man, solitude with his own community, but a sense of otherness that remained, even as he gained fame and prestige amongst the Quebecois population.

The move had been difficult on Jack as well, who had been preparing for his first year of school in Pittsburgh, only to have the trade go through just before the year started. It was difficult for Bob, whose hockey schedule was in line with school. It meant he missed most of the meetings regarding Jack’s assistance in the regular hearing school. The decision had rested on Alicia’s shoulders, who was going by what Jack’s therapist had told them.

“If you want Jack to have a life and a career outside of the Deaf Community,” she said, “he’s going to have to assimilate. It means speech therapy, it means not relying on sign language as a primary method of communication. It means adjusting, and it’ll be hard for him, but we have some of the best speech pathologists in Quebec here, and he’s a smart boy. I know he’ll pick up on it.”

Bob and Alicia were on the fence about it. Jack liked the Deaf pre-school he’d been attending. They used sign language at home, and Jack hadn’t shown much interest in speech. But he had showed interest in hockey, and Bob’s sole reference for deaf hockey players was a single man who eventually went through surgery to exist in the NHL as all-but hearing to keep his career going.

And if Jack was seeking that life—if he was like Bob, if hockey ran in his veins, sacrifices had to be made.

They agreed, though neither of them felt good about it.

Both Jack and Alicia hadn’t said much about how the therapy was going. It was a few hours a week in school, and three days a week after school was let out. When they asked him, Jack would merely respond with, ‘Fine,’ the sign tapped on his chest. He wouldn’t elaborate, and Bob was afraid to push him.

Alicia had confided in him though, late at night just before Bob was away on a long roadie. “He doesn’t like school anymore. He doesn’t smile, he’s not making friends. I don’t know if this was the right choice, Bobby.”

Bob didn’t have an answer for her. Since the day their son was born, he felt out of his depth. He was good at a few things—loving Alicia, loving Jack, playing hockey, throwing a right hook. The rest, the details, the specifics? They’d always been beyond him. It was the simple fact that Alicia had been uncomplicated and ready to except Bob for who he was which kept their marriage strong. She was content with him loving her, and doing his best.

With Jack, he’d figured out the little things—the simple things—early on. He was quick to discover what foods Jack liked and hated, he was quick to figure out his favourite toys, and what signs caught on quickest, and how to soothe him during a meltdown.

But all of this—what to do, how to protect his future and his happiness well…that was more than he thought he was capable of.

Walking up to the school, Bob followed the familiar path and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jack sat on a little bench outside the pathologist’s office. Jack’s face was tipped down, his cheeks stained with tears, his little hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench.

Bob immediately went down to one knee, tapping Jack gently on the shoulder. Jack’s eyes were wide as he looked up, and there was something in his expression that started to crack the second he realised who was knelt in front of him.

‘What happened?’ Bob signed, not really giving a shit about the therapist’s request that they use voice-only until Jack picked it up.

Jack bit his lip, then looked down at his hands and it was then Jack noticed red, angry creases along the tops.

Bob brushed his fingers over one hand, then got Jack’s attention. ‘What happened?’ he asked again.

Jack shook his head, then signed, ‘I want to go home.’

Bob nodded, standing up and extending a hand out to his son. When he closed his fingers round Jack, he saw his son flinch, and a raw sort of protective rage welled up in him. He bit it back, not wanting to scare the boy, but he couldn’t let this go.

He knelt back down. ‘You’re not in trouble. I just want to know what happened.’

Jack swallowed thickly, his mouth working like he might verbalise the problem. Then he raised his hands instead. ‘I don’t like talking. I don’t _understand_. I’m confused. She won’t look at me so I can’t sign and I didn’t stop so she made me sit on my hands.’

There was a buzzing obscuring Bob’s hearing, and when he came to, he’d released Jack and was now stood at the therapist’s door. He managed to regain most of his sense, and he turned back to Jack. ‘I’m going to talk to her, okay? You sit and wait. I’ll be out in a second.’

It had been a long time since Bob had seen this much red outside of a hockey rink.

*** 

By the time they got home, Bob was mostly calm, and Jack had been given an ice cream cone so he was licking it contently, making a slight mess over his shirt and cheeks. Bob was still thrumming with the incident, but he couldn’t deny the satisfying feeling it left in his chest to confront the therapist, to fire her and insist she had not seen the last of him.

He wanted to know why, of course. Why something like that had been done.

The therapist’s response was simple. “It’s common practise, Mr Zimmermann. That’s just how it is.”

“Well not with my son,” he said, then stormed out. He wanted to believe he could make good on his threat, but considering the lack of resources, he had a feeling that Jack was facing yet another piece of his life where he was going to be something _other_.

Whether or not that was the case, Bob wasn’t going to let him more than an arm’s length away.

Inside, Bob went to the kitchen and did what he knew best. He put together a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He cut them into triangles, the way Jack liked best, and set them on the coffee table. Jack perked up at the sight, and then looked up at Bob who was settling onto the end of the sofa.

‘Papa. Am I in trouble?’

‘No,’ Bob signed, his fingers a little more snappy than he meant to. ‘Of course not, Jack. Never. You have been perfect.’

Jack’s face fell, and he sank to the floor. His finger reached out, poking an impression of it into the top of the sandwich, then he dared look up at his dad again. ‘I didn’t follow the rules.’

‘Those rules were stupid,’ Bob retorted immediately.

Jack’s mouth quirked. ‘Like hockey?’

Bob couldn’t help a chuckle. He slid down to the floor next to Jack, turning so he was facing him. ‘A little bit like hockey. But also they want you to be something else, something different than you are.’

‘Hearing?’ Jack asked.

Bob nodded his fist. ‘Yes.’

Jack bit his lip, then asked, ‘What’s hearing like?’

Bob was taken aback. Years and years before, he thought Jack might ask him that question. He thought a child’s curiosity would lead the boy to wondering what it was like for all the other people around him who weren’t like him. But the question never came, and Bob had stopped preparing for it.

Now he was at a loss, licking his lips, trying to scramble for an answer. ‘I don’t know how to tell you exactly,’ he confessed. Jack deserved honesty. ‘I could ask you what it’s like to be Deaf.’

‘I like it,’ Jack signed quickly.

Bob chuckled, and ruffled Jack’s hair. ‘I know you do. That’s good, Jack. You should like who you are.’ He leant back against the sofa, then motioned for Jack to sit on his stretched thigh. When Jack did, Bob took his hand and placed it against his throat and began to sing. The soft, Hebrew lullaby his mother hand sung to him, and Bob had sung to Jack when he was a baby. He watched Jack’s eyes widen, and his mouth drop open a little. Jack’s other hand came up, very gently touching Bob’s mouth as his lips moved, and Bob didn’t stop. He sang the entire song, trailing off with the final note.

With a sigh, he shrugged. ‘It’s like that. That feeling in your fingers, except when you hear, you feel it right here.’ He reached out, mindful of Jack’s hearing aids, and tapped the bare part of his ear.

Jack brushed his own ear, then after frowning for a moment, he shrugged. ‘I like it this way.’

Bob hugged him tight. ‘Good. Now you want to eat a sandwich and watch some cartoons?’

Jack brightened. ‘Yes!’

He curled up on the sofa with the bright, flashing images of Disney Channel on the TV, and a PB&J clutched in each fist.

Bob didn’t know what he was going to do about the rest of Jack’s life, but he knew one thing, he’d do everything in his power to make sure Jack never, ever lost the love he had for himself, for his Deafness, for how he was born.

*** 

3\. 

Bob had been through a lot. Several of his own surgeries, a few of Alicia’s. The accident she’d been in a few years ago. Jack himself had been through a few—broken bones, bad falls, the cochlear implant he’d finally decided on not more than two years ago when Kent had convinced him and the doctor said his left ear was a good candidate for it.

But nothing would compare to this. Nothing would compare to seeing his son looking small, pallid, weak in the hospital bed and wondering if he really would get up. Nothing would ever be able to adequately describe the feeling in Bob’s chest when the phone call had come in, telling him Jack was in hospital, he’d over-dosed, he was being treated but it wasn’t looking good.

He was stable now, stable enough to be taken off the vent, and stable enough for visitors. Alicia had already been in several times, and it had taken Bob this long to get the flight out and get there.

He wished Alicia was with him now, but he understood why she needed the time away. His hands shook, and he took a breath and tried to steady himself as he walked into the room.

It was bright, from an open window just across from Jack’s bed. It looked more like a hotel room than an ICU room rightfully should, but Bob supposed that money and celebrity afforded such luxuries. There was a TV on attached high against the wall, the sound off, but no captions.

Jack was curled up under his blankets on his side, staring dully at the window. Bob could see the implant was off, just the glint of the magnet, and Bob wasn’t sure if it was because Jack might need surgery, or if it interfered. Either way, he knew Jack hated the damn thing, and it hadn’t worked out as well as any of them had hoped.

‘If this is hearing,’ Jack signed angrily after one of his games, ‘I hate it.’

Bob didn’t know what Jack was hearing, what he was experiencing, but he knew Jack was getting headaches, and he was getting more and more anxious and frustrated, and Bob didn’t know what to do with all that. He assumed things would be better after he retired, that he’d be able to _be_ there more and maybe understand more.

But it hadn’t gone that way at all.

And now here they were.

Jack noticed him after a moment, and Bob took heart in the fact that Jack visibly softened when he realised who was stood at his bedside. Bob gave himself a moment, then crossed over and sat in the empty space where Jack’s knees were crooked up.

‘They want me to go to rehab,’ Jack signed with one hand, spelling the last word for Bob’s benefit. ‘I’m not an addict.’

Bob licked his lips. Jack wasn’t an addict, not in the sense that most people assumed addicts were. But it had come out now, thanks to all the information the boys in the Q—particularly Parse—had been able to provide. Jack wasn’t an addict, but he’d been misusing his medication, he’d been taking it wrong, unsupervised—something Bob would blame himself for, and blame the institution of hockey that ignored the fact that some of these boys needed more help than others.

Rehab was the right choice. To get Jack off the dosage he’d been taking, to get him working through everything that was wrong, to learn how to manage himself—his anxiety, his identity—and then he would be alright.

‘I’m not going into the draft,’ Jack signed when Bob had nothing to say.

Bob stared at him. ‘I know,’ he finally said. Because he did.

Jack sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, knowing looking away was rude, but Jack didn’t really seem much for manners at the present time. When he looked back, his face was devoid of most expression. ‘They wanted me to try harder, stop signing, speak everything. I hate speaking. I hate speaking more than I love hockey.’

‘There are more options than the NHL.’

‘AHL,’ Jack spelt.

Bob shrugged. ‘AHL. Coaching, Collegiate, beer leagues, playing against me at home.’

He was rewarded by the smallest huff of laughter, and it felt like winning the Cup. ‘I don’t know what I want.’

‘You’re eighteen,’ Bob signed. ‘You don’t need to know right now.’

Jack’s jaw tensed, but he nodded and dropped his hands back to the blanket, telling Bob they were done for now. But he shifted over, and gave the bed a pat, which fitting a freshly retired NHL player, and a teenager who had just spent several years in the Q into one bed was a miracle in itself.

But it worked.

Bob felt Jack sag against him, his face up against Bob’s chest.

After what felt like an eternity, Jack cleared his throat, and Bob nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Jack’s voice. “Do you remember when I was a kid?” Bob could count the times he’d heard Jack say full sentences on two hands.

Bob raised his fist, nodding it. ‘Yes.’

“You used to sing me a song. I never knew the words.”

Bob closed his eyes, a fresh wave of relief mingled with pain because Jack was here. He was here, and alive, and right now he was probably going to be okay and it wasn’t enough, but it was something. And Jack could ask Bob for the damn moon and Bob would be on the phone trying to get on with NASA to secure a ship for it.

Instead of making promises he wouldn’t be able to keep, Bob just shifted onto his side, and took Jack’s hand—much bigger than it had been the last time he’d done this—and he pressed it against his throat. He felt Jack settle in, ear pressed to Bob’s chest.

With all the strength he could muster, pushing away all the emotional exhaustion that would later threaten to drown him, Bob opened his mouth, and he began to sing.

*** 

+1. 

Bitty woke with the feeling like something wasn’t quite right. Not _wrong_ , just different. Unusual. It wasn’t a great feeling to have when there was a new born in the house, and the moment he realised he was alone in the bed, he was on his feet and dashing across the hallway into the nursery.

He came to a dead stop when he realised a few things. One, Noah wasn’t crying. Two, Jack was rocking him back and forth very carefully in front of the cot. Three, there was a soft, almost toneless hum coming from Jack, and Bitty realised then Jack was _singing_

Because Jack’s back was to him, Bitty stomped his foot twice on the ground, then offered as smile when Jack’s head turned round. ‘What are you doing?’ 

‘He was crying, and I couldn’t get him to calm down, so I was trying what always worked for my dad,’ Jack signed, only slightly awkward with the use of just one hand, and an almost sleeping baby in the other.

Bitty’s eyebrows raised. ‘What worked for your dad?’

‘Singing,’ Jack said, then chuckled when Bitty looked startled. Jack shrugged. ‘When I was crying, he would put my hand on his throat and sing. My mom says he’s not very good, but I guess that didn’t matter to me.’

Bitty snorted, crossing the distance between them to curl up against Jack’s side. His hand reached out, brushing down Noah’s chubby cheek. Noah was hearing, but he didn’t seem bothered at all by Jack’s toneless hums. In fact, it was the most content Bitty had seen their son in weeks now.

‘He loves it,’ Bitty signed when he pulled away.

Jack shrugged, but he looked pleased, his cheeks pink with it. Noah stirred again, and Jack picked the humming back up. ‘It was a Hebrew song, but I never learnt the words,’ Jack admitted. ‘Maybe you can ask my dad?’

Bitty looked down at their son, whose eyes had finally fallen shut, and then he looked back up at Jack. ‘I don’t think I need to. I think you’re giving him exactly what he wants.’

Bitty waited for Jack to put Noah back in the cot, then they stepped a few paces away, Jack wrapped round him from behind, and they watched the baby sleep. Bitty knew this wasn’t going to last—the novelty of watching a sleeping baby would be eclipsed by screaming colic, by a handful of sleeping hours per week, by all the ups and downs that came with choosing this path and raising a child.

But it would be worth it. And by the way Jack had managed to calm their child, Bitty had a feeling they were going to be alright.

Maybe not perfect, but maybe that was okay.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter- Implied and subtle homophobia from Bitty's parents, and Bitty dealing with it internally. I've pretty much 100% drawn from my experiences with my family--hence the reason I've taken it out on poor Suzanne (not how I actually feel about her character). If issues with homophobic parents/family are a trigger for you, please skip this chapter.

The flight to Madison was fairly quick, but Bitty had never been overly fond of flying, even short distances. So it was no surprise he was sat in the airport, hunched over his knees, his fingers gripping into his paper Starbucks cup as his Get Psyched to Fly playlist pumped through his earbuds. It was a soothing mixture which never actually helped, but at the very least, it kept him distracted.

Jack sat next to him doing nothing besides occasionally passing a hand up and down the length of his spine. In his free hand he held his kindle, one of his latest to-read books queued, and every so often he’d glance over to make sure Bitty didn’t need him.

The anxiety of introducing Jack to his family only compounded his flight anxiety, and by the time they were at cruising altitude, Bitty was ready to bolt for the toilet. Jack only managed to get out of the way before Bitty literally crawled on top of him, and Bitty found himself intensely grateful he had his tiny bottle of single-use mouthwash to clear out the funk when he was done.

His fingers were shaking when he got back to his seat, and the moment he buckled back in, Jack crowded in close, taking Bitty’s hand between both of his own. He traced the lines there, over his palm, over the creases in his knuckles, along his wrist. He brought Bitty’s hand up and kissed the tips of each finger, then the centre of his palm.

When Bitty had visibly calmed, he offered Jack a grateful smile, the fingers of his other hand tipping from his chin. ‘Thank you.’

Jack just gave him a careful smile, and reached out to brush a bit of fringe away from Bitty’s forehead. He signed nothing.

Before Bitty could work himself up again, the plane began to descend, and he gripped Jack’s hand to prepare for the landing. As they began to taxi, the anxiety of seeing his parents—of dealing with all the passive aggressive, homophobic bullshit they were going to lay on with all the polite smiles of good, Church-going Southerners, started to sink in. He could feel the blood drain from his face, save for two round circles of pink on his cheekbones.

Jack took notice straight away, and gripped Bitty’s chin, urging him to look over. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he signed, his fingers moving fluid, slow so Bitty’s brain could register what was being said. ‘You and I are going to get our car, drive to the hotel, and have a few hours before we have to be anywhere. And remember, you and me, right?’

Bitty swallowed thickly and flicked his fingers between the two of them. ‘You and me.’

*** 

It was easier said than done. 

Bitty was able to use baggage claim, and another trip to Starbucks, and the rental car as a distraction. Even checking into the hotel which had them queuing behind six people who were waiting to be addressed by one, over-worked front desk person.

But eventually they had their room key and they were in the room Jack had booked online. It was one of the nicest hotels in Madison, which wasn’t saying much compared to the places he and Jack had stayed in Providence, Boston, and once in New York when they’d gone to Seder at Holster’s parents. But it was isolated, and the only real sound in the room was the faint buzzing of the AC unit under the window, which kept one corner of the room wintery cold.

Bitty flopped on the bed, then let out a small noise of surprise when his vision was suddenly flooded with Jack’s face—looking soft, serious, but smiling down at his anxious boyfriend. ‘Kiss,’ Jack signed.

Bitty couldn’t think of a time he’d ever turned down Jack’s offer for kisses—couldn’t think of a situation he’d want to. His hands drifted into Jack’s hair, tugging lightly, the way he knew Jack liked. And then Jack’s mouth landed on his—a soft, chaste press of lips, which only grew more insistent, parting just enough for an easy swipe of tongue.

Bitty moaned, making the sound loud enough for it to vibrate against Jack’s hands which were pressing against Bitty’s collarbone, and Jack answered with one of his own. As Jack’s fingers drifted downward, Bitty realised where he was going with these motions, what he was doing to try and distract Bitty from his worry—and it was working.

*** 

They showered after that, taking turns since the tub was both a little dodgy looking and a little small for two grown men. Bitty scrubbed his hair with Jack’s shampoo, comforted by the scent of his boyfriend surrounding him, and he talked himself through it.

“It doesn’t matter what they say, they’re not going to scare him off.” The thought fell from his lips and it struck Bitty intensely to recognise exactly what it was he was worried about. The casual, quiet homophobia never felt good, but he’d been weathering that for years. Mostly he was worried that all the work, all the love, companionship, and faith he’d put into his relationship with Jack would be shattered by one or two cruel things his mother could level at his boyfriend.

And Bitty wanted to believe they were stronger than that. Logic dictated they were. If Jack could be scared off by a couple of rude comments, there’s no way the pair of them would be wearing engagement rings, and currently planning a wedding. They wouldn’t have two tickets to Montreal in their bag, where they were flying next, to celebrate with the Zimmermanns.

But all the same, as much as he understood the fear was irrational, he couldn’t make it go away.

He stepped out of the shower to find Jack already dressed, pulling a comb through his hair. Jack’s motions stopped, and he quickly crowded a mostly-naked Bitty against the basin, touching the side of his face as he kissed him.

‘Beautiful,’ Jack signed as he pulled back.

Bitty’s face erupted into a blush, like he did every time Jack complimented him. He thought after this long, the novelty of being found attractive by his partner would wear off, but it had yet to ease up even a little. He drew his lower lip into his mouth coyly, then reached out and brushed his thumb over Jack’s bottom lip. ‘Speak for yourself, sweetheart.’

Jack rolled his eyes, and gave Bitty a playful shove toward their open case on the bed. Bitty stared at their things, all mingled together just like their lives, and he let out a calming breath as he dressed, and quickly went to the mirror to comb his hair and scrub his teeth.

He checked his phone just before leaving, and found a text from his mother whose tone left nothing to be desired.

**I hope your flight landed okay. I know we have an agreed upon time but a text to your momma might be nice, Dicky. I hope we’re not waiting on y’all for the whole day.**

_Sorry momma, we fell asleep. Jack and I are on our way._

**So he did come, then?**

Bitty’s hands shook, and his eyes went hot with sudden tears he had promised himself he wouldn’t shed over her words. Jack took immediate notice, putting one hand on the small of Bitty’s back, and the other waved at him for attention, tapping a Y on his chin when Bitty looked up. ‘What’s wrong?’

Bitty didn’t answer, instead turning the phone toward Jack for him to read. He watched Jack’s brows dip into a frown, and when he let out a sigh, Bitty pulled it away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he signed. ‘I’m sorry you have to meet her. I’m sorry she’s going to be like this the entire trip…’

Jack’s hands stilled Bitty, fingers curling round his wrists, and he brought both of them to his lips for a soft kiss to each one. ‘It’s okay,’ he signed when he pulled back. ‘I don’t care. I love you.’

Bitty nodded, then flashed the I love you sign at Jack just before grabbing his things, and ushering them out into the hallway.

*** 

Bitty didn’t drive often, but getting behind the wheel in Madison felt strangely natural—the place he’d learnt it all. The hotel wasn’t far from his parents’ place, and he had all-but composed himself by the time they pulled into the drive. There were several cars, which meant a good portion of the family was already there, and it meant Bitty wouldn’t have any time at all for his parents to adjust to him finally, _finally_ bringing a boy home before the rest of the family got involved.

It was just as well. He had a feeling his mother planned it that way. Taking a breath, he reached for Jack’s hand, and was grounded by the fingers linking with his own. They walked up the familiar steps to the front door—steps Bitty had spent far too many hours of his teenage years sat on, contemplating whether or not things would ever get better. Part of him wanted to stop, to give Jack every single story that took place. But he didn’t have ten years.

They had, at best, an evening and an afternoon before they would be gone.

He paused at the door, staring at the bell, wondering if he was a stranger enough in his childhood home that he should use it. He shook himself out of those thoughts and twisted the knob, pushing his way inside.

Most of the party was outside already—Bitty could see through the kitchen window as they stepped into the lounge, and the back garden was teaming with family. He felt his stomach twist unpleasantly as he glanced over at Jack, who was taking in the living room with wide eyes.

The place hadn’t changed much. His parents had upgraded the sofas from the outdated floral print to something microfibre, a sort of greyish blue which matched the paint on the walls. The wood floor was the same, though, freshly polished for guests, and the walls were covered in the same art, and the same ancient school photos of Bitty with his unruly cowlick and too many freckles.

He dragged Jack past it all before he could get a really good look at his awkward adolescent phase.

In the kitchen, his momma was at the counter, chopping away at what looked like a bushel of strawberries. Bitty drew his lower lip into his mouth, then stomped on the floor twice. Suzanne put her knife down, turning with an expectant look on her face. Her eyes darted from Bitty’s face, down to his hand joined with Jack’s, and Bitty could all-but see the thoughts play out with her expression.

The change to polite smiling because of company was honey-slow, and her eyes remained cold, even as her mouth turned up in a smile as she swiped her hands on her apron, then beckoned Bitty in for a hug. All of it was typical, the warring conflict inside Bitty between the emotional nostalgia of hugging his mother, and knowing what she really thought of him as a person. He breathed through it, smiled, squeezed her tight.

‘Hi, momma,’ he signed as he stepped back, then turned to beckon Jack forward. ‘This is Jack.’ He hesitated, his fingers so tense they were twitching. He gathered up his courage, telling himself he didn’t come this far to bow out now. ‘My boyfriend.’

The flicker in her eyes was noticeable, as was the way her shoulders tensed, and the corners of her mouth went a little stiff with her smile. But all the same, she was still Suzanne Bittle. She was still the woman who was going to make nice and pull Jack in for a hug, and pat his cheek fondly and sign, ‘Thank you for taking such good care of my boy. We miss him so much.’

Bitty watched Jack understand what she wasn’t saying, the silence far louder than the polite words falling from her hands. ‘Where’s Coach?’

Suzanne waved her hand dismissively. ‘At the grill, of course. You want to go and say hi, then come help me with these pies? If you’d gotten here earlier, there would have been more time to prep, but I know you boys needed a rest after that long flight.’

Bitty bristled, but took Jack’s hand anyway, and led him outside. He could feel every eye on him, but he kept his head high, shoulders back. ‘Most of these people are momma’s family,’ Bitty explained as they stepped off the porch. ‘My dad’s family doesn’t come around much. They were never comfortable with the whole deaf thing.’

Jack frowned, but nodded since he already knew the story. Bitty had done his best to prep his boyfriend before they stepped into the veritable lion’s den of fundamentalist Christians who had a fundamentalist mentality about being Deaf as well. Bitty couldn’t fault them the second one—he’d seen with his own two eyes what Deaf people dealt with on the day to day. But he couldn’t help but taste bitter bile in his mouth every time they asked him if he’d found a good church, and where his girlfriend was as though they weren’t perfectly aware he didn’t, and never would, swing that way.

Part of Bitty was angry because they should have understood him. They should have understood what it was like to feel _other_. What it was like to have to combat people who would try and force you to live a way different to how you were born, to fit inside the carefully constructed box society had made for you, whether you liked it or not. But they didn’t. Somehow they managed to reason out that being born deaf was natural, but being born gay, well…

‘Dad,’ Bitty signed after tapping Coach on the shoulder. He had his implants on, which likely meant there were a few Bittles around the party somewhere. His eyes flickered between Bitty and Jack, and then he let out a tiny sigh and gave Bitty a pat on the shoulder.

“Junior,” he said.

‘Jack’s Deaf,’ Bitty quickly signed. ‘And he doesn’t read lips. Sign only, okay?’

Coach’s eyebrows rose, and Bitty found himself surprised his mother hadn’t said, but then again, it was likely because his mother didn’t want to pass along a single good word about Jack. ‘Nice to meet you, Jack,’ Coach amended, then shook Jack’s hand.

‘Thank you. You have a very nice house,’ Jack replied.

Coach shrugged. ‘That’s all Suzanne. I just live here.’

Jack snorted a little, and stepped closer to Bitty. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.’

Coach’s hands twitched, like he wanted to reply to that—maybe with the brutal honesty that came from living so long in a Deaf family. But he stopped himself. ‘We can make introductions around dinner. Junior, did you show Jack around?’

Bitty was given an out, and with the way his aunts were all looking at him, he decided maybe escaping to his old, childhood bedroom wasn’t the worst idea. ‘I’ll do that now.’

‘Grab another case of beer from the basement when you come back, okay?’ Coach asked.

Bitty nodded, throwing up the Ok sign, and then dragged Jack by the hand around the side of the house, and back in through the front door to avoid his mother. The last thing he wanted was to get roped into making pies with her, which would only isolate Jack, and Bitty didn’t want to feed him to the wolves. Not yet. Probably not ever. He knew Jack could hold his own, but he loved him too much to make him face all of that. Jack hadn’t grown up this way. He’d been gifted two parents who thought the sun rose and fell on their child, who had given him everything they could to make his life easier. And although Jack was no stranger to what living in a hearing society could cost Deaf people, Bitty wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared to deal with a group of humans who were supposed to love you because of who you were, not in spite of it.

Bitty’s iron grip on Jack’s hand loosened as they reached the top of the landing, and he turned. ‘This was my room. You want to see it?’

Jack’s curious expression melted into a grin. ‘Of course.’

Bitty rolled his eyes playfully, grinning before he turned the knob and pushed the door open. It was the same—apart from new bedsheets and a fresh dusting, nothing had changed. And most people might have thought it was sweet, that his parents hadn’t wanted to let him go, but Bitty knew that wasn’t the case. Bitty knew it was a shrine—a testament to _before_. It held the last remnants of the Eric Richard Bittle his mother _thought_ she was raising. The sweet boy who’d grow up and treat a woman right, and marry her, and bring his momma and daddy home a gaggle of grandchildren.

That Eric had never existed, but his mother wouldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t a sanctuary away from the party, it was just a vicious reminder of _why_ bringing the man he loved home to meet his family was a statement, was a protest, instead of what it should be. He let out another shaking breath, and Jack immediately noticed the shaking in his hands, because with a quiet grunt, he dragged Bitty over and kissed the tips of each finger.

They stood there for a long time, in the centre of the room, lit through the hazy curtains by the setting sun which gave everything an orange-yellow glow. He didn’t want to look round, see the old pictures pinned up, the books, the knick-knacks he’d procured over the years. He’d left all of this behind, a deliberate action so when he went to college he could finally start living as himself.

But he wanted to share this piece of himself with Jack, too. Jack had all-but cut himself open and spilt every memory for him, and this was the least Bitty could do.

‘It’s very you,’ Jack finally signed when he took a step back.

Bitty rolled his eyes and thwapped Jack on the shoulder, though it was true. For all that he’d tried to escape, Bitty had never been able to live completely in the closet. He’d never been able to leave everything behind. He hadn’t wanted to. The pop music and the baking and the dancing. The photos of him in every single one of his figure skating outfits—ones Jack was looking at now with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

He picked up a particularly intense one—Bitty wearing bright blues and purples, with glitter smeared across his face, and some of the brightest, most outrageous make-up he’d been allowed to wear. He’d been thirteen, his last programme, and he’d skated to a Space Oddity remix. His mother had been somewhat scandalised and when it was announced Bitty wouldn’t be taking the ice again, she hadn’t cried.

Neither had he, though.

‘I have a video,’ Bitty confessed, reaching out then to touch the corner of the photo. ‘If you’re good, I’ll let you watch it sometime.’

Jack laughed softly, setting the photo back and then suddenly crowded Bitty back, and back, and back until he hit the wall with a faint thud. Bitty’s head tipped back with Jack’s fingers on his chin, and he shuddered at the warmth of Jack’s palm as it slid along the side of his neck, to his nape, and held him fast as their lips met in a messy, soft kiss.

Bitty whimpered into his mouth, Jack feeling the vibrations of it against his own lips, and chuckled as he pulled back. His hands were only slightly shaking when he offered to fulfil one of Bitty’s fantasies of having a cute boy in his room while his parents were downstairs.

Bitty was not in a hurry to say no.

*** 

Dinner went on as Bitty imagined it would. Passive-aggressive polite conversation, though the kids all took to Jack—enthralled with his ability to curl them on his biceps like free-weights, and excited to learn phrases in French sign, hurrying to show their parents the subtle differences in the alphabet. Bitty caught himself smiling more than he was frowning, watching Jack take it all, interact like it was nothing, and knowing Jack wasn’t bothered because this wasn’t his reality.

It wasn’t Bitty’s anymore, either. It was a momentary blip on their radar, a once-a-year obligation, if that, he was paying to the people who gave him life. And Bitty knew that _they_ knew that he was happy, and he was stable, and he was safe, so one wrong move and they wouldn’t see the pair of them again. He could see the reality of it playing out on his mother’s face, and watched her reign it in, even when Bitty had the _nerve_ to hold Jack’s hand right in front of everyone.

There was cake, and Suzanne claimed it was to celebrate their commitment—commitment, not engagement, Bitty noticed the difference—and though he wanted to protest, Jack merely thanked them and made a show of sharing his piece with Bitty on the same plate, with the same fork. Bitty did not miss the quiet smile his father gave him behind his mother’s back, and it warmed him knowing that he had at least a vague ally in all this mess.

Maybe his side of the pews during the wedding wouldn’t be completely empty.

They didn’t stay long, saying their goodbyes after the first set of cousins headed home, and before long they were back in the hotel room and Bitty was letting it all wash over him in fits and bursts as Jack kept him tucked close. In bed, pressed against Jack’s side, he felt comforted by this routine—the same even on the road, with Jack reading on his kindle, and Bitty thumbing through twitter, and something on the TV in the background neither one of them were paying attention to.

‘Thank you for bringing me,’ Jack signed before he reached for the light.

Bitty blinked at him, then let out a slightly bitter laugh. ‘Why?’

‘It’s not like I forget how strong you are, but there’s something about seeing it all play out that makes it more real,’ Jack confessed. ‘I’m not sure I could have handled it, if it were me.’

Bitty wanted to argue, to remind Jack he’d been through enough of his own, and the weight of that was just as heavy, if not heavier, but this wasn’t a competition. And frankly it was nice to feel a little validated in his struggle. To know he wasn’t making it up, and that his family’s polite smiles and cold eyes weren’t something he should just accept.

He didn’t feel better. He doubted anything could make any of this better, but he felt alive, and he felt secure in his future.

That mattered.

*** 

They arrived at the Zimmermanns’ mid-day, and Bitty was swept into the kitchen by Bob who wanted to show off some of his newly acquired baking skills while Alicia and Jack went out to pick up a few things they’d need for dinner and to prepare for the Shabbat.

It was a strange feeling, this place and these people he didn’t really know, feeling more like home than the place he grew up. But when he looked across the counter and saw Bob’s wide grin as he carefully—very carefully—cut the butter into the flour for the crust, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I take it the visit was less than stellar?”

Bitty dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, then went back to slicing the apples. “It could have been worse,” he finally said.

Bob chuckled quietly into his dough. “I know how that feels.” When Bitty looked up, a little startled, he shrugged. “Maybe not with family—my family has always been very tight, and the community here, that was a big part of it. I came here for that—when I was young and worried, didn’t speak much English, and thinking hockey would solve my problems and I would be welcome amongst these people who shared my mother tongue. But, it wasn’t like that. Playing the sort of hockey I played, it put me in a light which was…” He trailed off, licking his lips as he carefully balled the dough together, testing whether or not it was ready. “There was pressure to assimilate to Quebecois culture, to convert, to be with them, and ignore who I was. I don’t think Jack talks about it much, we tried to keep him away from it. He was dealing with enough being a Deaf kid and wanting to play hockey, and wanting to be with the other kids but not be less of himself, you know?”

Bitty nodded. He _did_ know.

“Hockey was Quebecois culture, not Jewish culture, so it was pretty obvious how much I didn’t belong, and they didn’t really care as long as I kept scoring points and bringing home trophies. But at the end of the day I was still Bob Zimmermann—the immigrant, the Jew, the outsider. No matter how many of them were my friends, they saw those three things first, and _then_ they saw me. I made it work, of course. We carved out our place here and it was a struggle, but it’s hard not to be happy.” He let out a breath, then a hearty laugh. “Oh Eric, I didn’t mean to start…”

“No,” Bitty said, his voice rough. He managed a smile, even as his throat burned with emotion. “No I…thank you. It means a lot that someone gets it. Because yeah, it’s that. I mean it isn’t the same but…”

“Doesn’t have to be exactly the same,” Bob said, and winked. “Now, come here and tell me how badly I’ve done on this crust.”

Bitty laughed, then proceeded to tell Bob it was the best pie crust dough ball he’d ever seen. Even if it wasn’t strictly true.

*** 

They were walking to shul that Saturday morning. There were a handful of others in the neighbourhood walking as well—most of them older, all of them excited to see Bob and Alicia, and excited to see Jack was visiting.

Bitty and Jack hung back, hands tangled together loosely between their bodies, Bitty watching the neighbourhood pass by, thinking that in spite of all the trouble Jack had growing up, and with everything Bob had told him about what it was like to be Jewish in Montreal, he could see how they were happy here. He looked down at his hand joined with Jack’s, then up at his boyfriend’s face which was soft and relaxed, and Bitty resolved to see more of that Jack, as often as he could.

‘What are you thinking?’ Jack asked with one hand.

Bitty laughed. ‘You’re cute.’ He loved the way that Jack blushed when he signed that. ‘That you look comfortable here. That I can’t wait to marry you.’ That last one hadn’t been an active thought, but it was one he had almost all the time. And signing it like that caused Jack’s footsteps to falter, then stop. Caused Jack to grab him by the cheeks and kiss him gently, for a little longer than he should have, considering they had somewhere to be.

When Jack pulled back, they were both blushing, and Bitty could hear Bob chuckling quietly in the distance. ‘Your dad’s laughing at us.’

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘I know. He’s so happy I want to be sick. I think we should elope, he’s not invited.’

Bitty rolled his eyes and smacked Jack on the arm, knowing full well he was joking. ‘He’d kill you, and I’d rather not be a widower ten minutes after we say our vows. I want this for a long time.’

Jack’s hand squeezed his gently, but firmly enough to remind him that yes, he wanted that too. Yes, that was exactly the plan. ‘Soon,’ was what he signed.

Bitty grinned at him, and they resumed walking.


End file.
